


Reckless

by Bionichobo



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Amber Alert, Capitol Wasteland, Charon is bad at making friends, Enemies to Friends, Gen, Multi, NPC are people too, Reagan - Freeform, Slow Burn, a lot of fighting, conflicts, oc is trying to be a good person, relationship implied, roadtrip story, thats how you make friends, very slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-01-12 13:34:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 55,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18447620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bionichobo/pseuds/Bionichobo
Summary: Amber Alert! Charon is stuck in Megaton waiting for LW Erin to return. Charon's nerves get the better of him and he leaves Megaton with an ex-raider OC to travel across Capital Wasteland and beyond to find Erin. Dead or alive. Where has he gone? I don't know! 6 years after Project Purity.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> I'm posting and writing via mobile, so there are going to be mistakes. Grammar isn't too swell.. if i missed anything. i tend to work 12hr shifts, so i hope to have the energy to do something!! I hope to make this into a series soon. Only reason for that is i have already written the next story, unfortunately before i finished the first!  
> Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6 years after Project Purity.  
> Charon is bored to hell waiting. A newcomer arrives with escort.  
> Friends begin to worry about Erin.   
> Attempted castrations are sometimes prevented with a slap on the wrist.

Inside the rusty shack in the far corner of the room, Charon sat like a rock in the cushioned chair, his eyes narrowed and focused on nothing. His breathing was controlled. Slow, slow even breathing. His heart pounding so slowly, slow blinking. This was a meditative state just on the outside of sleep, one he would ease into when he had nothing else to do but wait. He could not sleep, which he hardly could if he managed to. The shack popped as the metal cooled and expanded in the night and the hiss when it simmered in the wasteland sun, the water pipes rumbling and shaking, he heard the smoothskin preaching outside. He heard children running by and playing with the gnomes outside and he heard the bugs at night and the drunken townsfolk going to their own rusted shacks to sleep away their intoxication. And he stayed waiting. He kept with exercise to keep himself fit and to work out so he wouldn't go completely stir-crazy, he was going to lose it in this boredom. He didn't mind the silence, but it was becoming nerve wracking.

Dogmeat wandered over to nudge his hand, requesting to go outside. Charon slowly pulled himself out of the chair, ignoring dull pain in his joints and followed the excited mutt to the door, thinking about how this was a great excuse to enjoy a quick smoke. He had not smoked this much in ages.

The Lone Wanderer ordered Charon to stay in Megaton. But for how long this time? Erin had a habit of running off into the wasteland for days before returning again, as one does with a moniker of Lone Wanderer. It was something that took Charon a few years to get used to, other than the kid's annoying attempt to be friends with him and everyone he came in contact with. It had been a rocky road for both. Being conditioned to always protect the contract holder had a bit of strain on him when his contract holder was constantly going AWOL, at least in the recent years Erin would finally give him the actual order for him to stay put until he got back. Erin would return, of course, the vault kid wasn't the child that was toss out into the apocalyptic world with a BB gun and broken pistol anymore. Erin was the (painfully kind) Messiah, or at least from the howling of Three-Dog and voices outside the shack that pass by almost reverently in their steps said. Erin, Messiah, Lone Wanderer or whoever, Charon had a job to do and it was to protect the contract holder... He could not defy a direct order. He had been rarely ordered to do much of anything by Erin, other than stay behind like the fucking dog, but the Lone Wanderer would return always, a few days later laden with gear and scavenged parts to be traded for caps and ammo.

However, this time, Erin has been missing over a week now.

Longer than ever before and it made Charon anxious. His new and repeated mantra, _"Erin isn't helpless,"_ would echo in his mind in sync with the rushing blood in his veins screaming at him grim possibilities that fate had in store for his contract holder. There were many times Charon found himself standing at the door with his combat shotgun in hand, itching to leave the shack to go find the vaultie. He was always on the verge of leaving Megaton, at times he got as far as the gates before he couldn't will himself to move past the threshold into the Wasteland. He suspected something must have happened to Erin and that he must find him, but he worried if he left now, Erin could return perfectly fine and find Charon gone. Scenarios flashed rapidly through his brain, telling him he should just leave, if anything he should go back to Underworld. They agreed to meet there if separated, but that was five years ago. But if Erin returned while Charon was gone, and Erin would be injured on his way to Underworld? Though Erin could be injured or dead out there right now. Ultimately, Charon would get frustrated and march all the way back to the shack, startling people with his growling, knocking over gnomes Erin has neurotically collected and lined up along the shack patio. He would shove open the thin door and storm all the way to his chair in the far corner.

Charon had hell on the fourth overdue morning of Erin's absence. It was in part of being worried for Erin, that is what he assumed, or it could be his nerves all together. He may be a statue and emotionless vessel of death, but underneath his nerves were wrenching and raw and maybe a bit worried. Erin was a good kid, and maybe, just maybe he thought of Erin was a friend. He was definitely a very lenient contract holder, trustworthy and kind. One doesn't get an employer like that so very often. And maybe he had grown attached to the kid. Despite knowing he must not grow too attached to contract holders. It's a possibility. People tended to exploit Erin's good nature unless Charon was there. Erin even told him that he felt braver having him around, so he definitely needed him for emotional support, but Erin couldn't understand what Charon meant by not being used at full potential. Charon was a guard, a tool, a weapon and he was overall obedient. His potential can be destructive, and he happened to be very efficient at killing others. Erin was a good kid, but Charon needed to stretch his legs and kill something. He's not here for emotional support, damnit, he's here to do his duty.

Charon dropped his cigarette and crushed it with his heel, giving it a good grind for extra measure. He gave those who dared glance his way a nasty scowl and went back into the shack. Another fucking day.

Erin had one other command before he left: Charon would help defend Megaton while he was away... doing whatever. At first Charon hated the idea of guard duty with civilians, but after a three-day assault from raiders he decided while blasting heads away with that sheriff, it wasn't such a terrible order. Attacks were nonstop and from different ends. The older civilians said it was worse than the Boppo raids because these raiders had some small inkling of strategy other than to just shoot up on psycho and run towards the guns. But then stopped almost abruptly one evening. Perhaps someone lucky had shot the one in charge. The robot deputy had to be repaired, a hole in the walls had to be welded shut after being blasted out, several of the new settlers were injured and a few died, but Megaton proved itself to be a useful fort when it came to it. The small bouts of violence helped remind the townsfolk the Lone Wanderer's ghoul companion wasn't like Daring Dashwood's beloved Argyle. Charon scowled, he remembered Erin laughing incredulously when Moria had mentioned the comparison. The crazy woman may had been joking, but it still annoyed Charon to death.

Dogmeat returned to the shack, passing the ghoul that held the door open for him. Charon marched past his shotgun, still on the book shelf and collecting dust as we went back to the chair. Another fucking day.

Charon had been in the worse of his fits of boredom on the sixth day of waiting for Erin. If there was a sound out of expectation, he was at the shotgun and ready to blast the door away, though in hindsight he didn't know why he had been so paranoid. The whole thing made him confused. So, Charon had all but avoided going near his trusty weapon. That shotgun was his only possession for as long as he could remember, but that day it felt like the end of a fuse and if he were to look at it for too long that he would lose his handle on the situation. He doubted he would go on a rampage, but something needed to be damaged. Last thing Megaton needed was a giant ghoul with an itchy trigger finger on the loose. It wasn't like he was going feral just yet. Shucking off his armor had made him feel an inkling better and also standing out on the balcony more often for fresh air did just as well to calm him. Hell, he was starting to take up alcoholism. It was only temporary of course. Outside, he would watch smoothskins move about, hearing their droning voices and Nathan humming somewhere out there. Dogmeat would run up the platform, his massive paws making a dull thudding until he reached Charon's side. It was a hilarious thought, but Charon swore if it wasn't for the mutt's routines, he would have lost his mind. And as usual, Dogmeat would lean against Charon's leg for attention and he would scratch behind the mutt's ear then open the door to allow him back inside the shack and become alone outside again, listening and waiting on another fucking day.

The eighth day Charon went to the Saloon to drink. He had drained all the alcohol reserves Erin kept. It helped him numb his limbs to keep from trying to find a neck to throttle out of boredom. Charon hated drinking in social environments as it reminded him of the Ninth Circle, but he had made compromises before. His program wouldn't allow him to completely shut out the world. Charon had tried to focus on the present, listening to the slurring smoothskins around him for mostly any chance of hearing gossip that could relate to the Lone Wanderer. Three-Dog on the radio would howl for a length of time, then the next song would play. Still, no news of the Lone Wanderer, Three-Dog's favorite topic. It was unusual. Charon would never admit to being worried for Erin out loud even if it was close to ripping his nerves apart inside. Gob would occasionally ask when he came to refill Charon's glass earning a glare for bringing it up, he knew Gob was being polite, but that ghoul never left the saloon even after Erin had choked the bastard Moriarty to death on the bar top.

Jericho had no qualms about telling everyone around him in his drunken stupor about how Erin was very likely rotting in the wasteland. Gob is always quick to berate the bastard on his outbursts, glancing nervously to Charon while he did, as if he knew Charon was hardly keeping it together. Charon hated Jericho and everyone knew that. Erin's calm voice always echoed in Charon's skull, _"not to pick fights in megaton, do not pick fights, do not... do not..."_ And he obeys, no matter how annoying Jericho got in his drink, _"It would not be fair to attack Jericho for his words"._ Erin always tried to coach Charon on fairness, of course it was often like trying to talk to a wall. Charon could not give a fuck about fairness in a fight and he normally wanted to punch his fist through the man's face every time Jericho opened his foul mouth, but these were orders and Charon would never disobey. No matter any amount of pseudo-freedom Erin attempted to create for him, Charon was bound to that contract. Jericho, as expected often tried provoking Charon if he had enough liquid courage. Not because he knew Charon had orders not harm, only Erin's friendly patrons of the Saloon and Lucas Simms knew of his contact, but because Jericho was simply a bastard. At least Charon knew what to expect. Charon discovered turning his attention to bluff the smoothskin made more affect to shutdown Jericho's pitiful excuse for intimidation then ignoring him.

This afternoon Charon kept himself busy as much as possible, but there's not much to do in a town made of rust held together in horrible welds and a deactivated nuclear warhead in the center with idiotic smoothskins worshiping it. He had spent an hour listening to the jukebox, enduring the overplayed music and Three-Dog's fucking howling. Charon growled in annoyance, why must the man have to howl so much? He hated Three-Dog before, and it got only worse when he and Erin met the radio host in person. In fact, Charon hated a lot of Erin's friends. On the radio, there were no new updates on their Lone Wanderer, the Messiah of the Wasteland. Though in Charon's mind, Erin was still returning to Megaton, having perhaps just traveled further than normal and that had prolonged his adventure? Erin gave Charon liberty to talk if anything were to come up for a conversation, most of it was subtle berating of the smoothskin's careless behavior when Charon did speak, but this time Charon would absolutely give the smoothskin a piece of his damn mind about ditching him in this boring rusted cesspool. He had told him before, he hated this fucking place, how clear can that be? How many days was it already? Two weeks already? He was losing track of time? Whatever didn't matter what time it was. He knew one thing:

It was another fucking day and Erin was very, very late...

\---

Charon woke in a start, grasping the sides of the chair tightly, his heart pounding against his chest. The sensation of being submerged and unable to swim to the surface for oxygen still clinging to him like a cloud. Charon rarely fell into a deep asleep and for good reason. He sat forward with a sigh, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his fingers rubbing his temples. A headache hammered through his skull. His sudden movement had upset Dogmeat from his nap as well, who had gotten up to lick the ghoul's hand. Charon grumbled, scratching the mutt behind the ear. Dogmeat gave him space, going upstairs to go crawl under Erin's bed to go back to sleep without interruption. Once Charon calmed his racing heart, he stood up and stretched out his limbs. His joints popped and he felt sore from lack of exercise. Charon knew if he stood up straight, he could reach the second floor with his fingertips, and so falling into routine again, he hopped up to grasp the edge and began to do half-assed chin ups. He was hardly keeping count, only doing something to keep himself preoccupied to help him forget the haunting wonderings.

Charon heard a familiar sound of soft whirling that had snapped him out of his subconscious. He let go to drop silently down to the floor, his arms were sore. He wasn't sure how long he had been doing chin ups. Exhaustion was usually the only thing tell him to quit moving and rest. Charon walked around the bookshelf, peering upstairs, had he really heard what he thought he had? Perhaps he was starting to hear things now? Hell, in his time at the Ninth Circle had not been so mentally grueling for him than awaiting in this Megaton shack.

Upstairs, the robot's charging station doors have opened, green lights flashing. The whirling had been the motors powering up. Charon was momentarily struck with excitement. Wadsworth only powered up when a registered member of the house was in the vicinity, which meant Erin had made it back after all and making his way to the shack having finally returned to Megaton. Then, Charon got aggravated. There have better be a good goddamn reason Erin left him behind for an extra goddamn week. Wadsworth bobbed and hovered by the ghoul slowly and humming to itself on its way to the foot if the stairs in position in waiting for the door to open. Charon sat down in the cushioned chair in the far corner of the shack, silently fuming. If he listened closely, he could hear footfalls, the steps coming closer then, a pause. For the moment, the door didn't open, instead came knocking.

Charon pushed himself out of the cushioned chair, more knocking from the other side of the door and a bit louder. He took a long look at the shotgun on the book shelf (where Erin ordered him to leave it when present, _"This is home, damn it."_ ) Instead he unsheathed his combat knife, holding it to his right closely. No need to waste bullets. He crossed the room quickly. Taking the door knob in his hand, his adrenaline was trying to peak at the surface, instincts warning him of threats. Who the fuck would knock? He was hyper aware of the situation. The door knob was very warm, conducted by the sun from outside, the robot's motor whirling nearby, Dogmeat had arrived at the top of the stairs in curiosity, Charon's blood was rushing. It's not Erin. He opened the door slowly and only a bit to peak out.

The afternoon sun's rays shone down in its hazy yellow, the heat from the wasteland rolled in to the shack to chase off the circulating breeze generated from the hard-working fans inside. The large brim of Lucas Simms' hat caught his eye and Charon calmed down only a bit. He lowered his knife that was poised to strike if needed. Simms gave a polite smile. What did he want? No one does social visits, not even when Erin was in town. Why would the sheriff be here?

"Hello, Charon," Simms greeted. He only received a grunt in response from the ghoul, "I have someone I'd like you to meet, since I know what happens to strangers that come unannounced... May we come in out of the sun?"

Charon almost smiled at the memory of brain matter all over the balcony that past morning. A trio of Talon Company mercenaries had infiltrated the town and made a bee line for the little rusted shack thinking they had the Lone Wanderer in their grasp with no escape. They must have not known that Erin was still out there somewhere in the wastes, but Charon had welcomed them quite warmly when they came barging in. One caught a blast to the face from his shotgun, the second mercenary got over five puncture wounds, (Charon knew all too well over five stabbings the body could not clot up and bled to out) while Dogmeat mauled him further into death when Charon took after the third had tried to escape the town... well Charon curb stomped his face in enough that the man had to be scraped off the walkway. That had been a good day.

Charon took a moment to think about the Sheriff's request, absorbed in the good memory. In the moment Simms must have misinterpreted it as suspicion and Simms offered a silent gesture of peace that brought him back from his thoughts. Charon knew Simms was reliable in the few skirmishes they worked together in, he's never done Erin wrong either. Charon opened the door wider and stepping aside, his eyes gazing boredly to the smoothskin standing next to the sheriff. What was left of Charon's skin raised in goosebumps and his grip on his knife tightened in response.

Charon knew a raider when he saw one.

Charon scowled at the woman next to Simms. She was dressed in stained scavenger rags to cover her gear beneath. He continued to scowl as he sized her up. This woman had an old scarring that came from her forehead across her eye and freckled cheek, two more following next to the other scarring over the bridge of her nose and over her lips and chin. The raider's eyes narrowed at him as placed her hands on her hips and looked just as annoyed as he was. She titled her head at Charon then looked to Simms, her tuffs of hair on top her head were moussed with motor oil, it bobbed back and forth on her head when she turned to look to Simms. But the sheriff did not break his confident stride as he led her into the metal shack.

Wadsworth seemed to pip up in excitement, or what seemed to be if a robot could be excited and called out a chippy, "Good evening Madame!"

The raider smiled brightly at the machine, showing she had a few broken teeth appearing to be sharpened. She grasped the robot's spherical body, pretending to pinch it's invisible cheeks.

"Wadsworth! You're looking just like new!" The young woman said with a thick southern accent.

"Madame, I have a message for you."

"Oh, save it for later." She said, giving the side of the robot a forceful kiss, letting go of the robot.

Charon heard Dogmeat run down stairs and hopped around the raider, barking happily, she knelt down to ruffle his furry face talking to him like a baby. During the whole raider's warm reunion with the bot and the damn dog, both who clearly knew her well enough to greet her, Charon stared at Simms in expectation. Hoping he wouldn't regret letting the smoothskins in while Erin was away.

"Charon this is Reagan, Reagan this is Charon." Simms explained, "Listen Charon, Reagan is a real good friend of Erin and Megaton. She comes around every now and then to visit and trades quality goods with us. Stuff we can't get here."

Charon gave Simms a dark look. Did Megaton trade with raiders? Was this some sort of trick? Erin would have mentioned a raider ally to him by now, especially one that had been around long enough to be recognized by Dogmeat and Wadsworth but having been escorted in by Simms only made the situation even more undesirable. Erin would not have associated himself with immoral scum. Clearly Erin kept some secrets to himself after all. Charon was sure this was a nice gesture and all by introducing her but what the hell did it have to do with him?

"I know what you're thinking. Reagan doesn't do that kind of stuff anymore, right Reagan?"

Reagan laughed again, "Like what stuff, Simms?"

Simms gave her a scolding glance, the two had a sort of talk before knocking on the door. It had been obvious, though whatever Simms could have told her, it did not take any sort of affect. Or maybe she just didn't respect the sheriff. Charon grits his teeth, she had gone back to sizing him up, standing tall as she could. She was taller than Sheriff Simms, making her a good head taller than Erin. She put her hands back on her hips. Simms rolled his eyes at her. She lifted her scarred chin, looking back to Charon and titled her head. She stares over him, he's just in his pants and undershirt. He wasn't dressed for visitors and he knew he smelled like alcohol and cigarettes. Simms cleared his throat. Charon sheathed the knife on his belt behind him.

"This is awkward, but I have obligation to hold the peace in Megaton, as you know. Reagan has a joint ownership with Erin of the house and like I said, her showing up abruptly without any sorts of introduction would not end well for anyone if this wasn't brought to your attention."

Reagan spoke up, "I even got my own room."

Charon scowled further. That explains why there were clothing and junk lying around in the second room when he traveled to Megaton with Erin half a decade ago. Erin said that was his room now, and Charon had no inclinations someone had claimed it before him. He assumed that the contract holder lived alone, as the two were there for James' death. That just proved further to Charon's doubt of Erin's apparent friendship with this raider scum. No, this wasn't going to do, no matter what Simms said. Charon didn't have to listen to him. That room belonged to him and he wasn't going to give it up.

"Be nice," Simms reminded her. His tone was friendly despite it being a command, touching Reagan on the arm. The sheriff gave a nod at Charon as he left the shack. Charon didn't even acknowledge him. He was angry with Simms for dumping this raider on him like this.

There was an uncomfortable silence that replaced Simms. The raider named Reagan leaned a bit forward, walking around him to slowly spin around the room on her heels, her amber eyes looking about. His eyes followed the curving, jagged trail of the scar from her cheek to rake down the back of her neck that disappeared under the lumpy rags. She had old blood stains on her sleeves and collar and oil stains along the ends. It meant she might not use long range weapons. He saw that Reagan was not currently armed with a gun but armored, to what extent was Reagan armored, he could determine from the rags that covered her. It was bulky but still there could be hiding a weapon there. Though Charon was confident he could over power her effortlessly if she were to try anything unwise. Large and heavy armor made the wearer clumsy and slow. Dogmeat seemed to trust her. The mutt had good sense when it came to humans. But Charon knew a raider when he saw one, no matter how civilized she appeared to be around the sheriff. Raiders cannot be trusted. And this one still had that half-crazed look in her eyes.

"You can leave now." Charon grumbled, "Out."

"Where's Erin?" She asked, dropping her pack at her feet near the bobble head collection.

Charon growled, furrowing his brows at the muddy duffle bag. Reagan knelt to dig through the pack, Charon moved to the book shelf. He was suspicious of her. After all, she may have a weapon in her bag. Instead she pulled out a small garden gnome. She wiped its grainy face with her thumb, Dogmeat prod it with his cold nose and when she tossed it in the cushion chair, the dog pretended he would fetch it back. The woman stood up. She looked to him with a raised eyebrow. Her hazel eyes noticed his shotgun on the top shelf. She stared to it and he could see the gears turning in her head.

"Erin told me to meet him here," Reagan said. She looked very concerned, "Eh, maybe he'll show up tomorrow. I mean, he's rarely late."

Reagan kicked her bag next to the book shelf causing it to rock. She looked over to the ghoul again. She did not seem intimidated in the slightest, though she was smart enough to not look away for long. Reagan even made eye contact, keeping as intense as she could and walked around him. Charon wanted her gone immediately so he did not try to block her way to the exit as she passed him. Why was she leaving her pack behind? This better not be some trick, leaving it behind so she would have to return. Before he could kick it her way, she took a sharp left up the stairs.

"Stop." He snapped again, his voice raised.

Charon saw her visibly twitch. She must not have liked that. She stopped half way up and turned over her shoulder.

"Get out." He growled.

Reagan's expression snapped in an instant, her face distorted up in a snarl and she visibly seethed at him. Raiders were usually half feral to begin with, if not all chemmed out junkies or psychopaths first. Charon wasn't at all surprised at her reactions. When she saw that he wasn't taken back by her outburst it only made her more annoyed. Then she feigned like she was offended by his words. Great, she thought she was charismatic.

"I live here!"

"Get the fuck out."

Reagan's eyes widen, "Fuck no! I'll be damned if I get kicked out by Erin's goddamn ghoul butler!"

Reagan turned swiftly on her heels to march upstairs, ranting under her breath about him. Reagan had just made it to top of the stairs when she felt cold steel of a gun barrel against her neck. She stood rigid, chills ran down her spine. She had not even heard Charon come up that stairs behind her. Maybe the sound of her metal cleats on the tin had drowned out his steps? She held in her breath, listening to the ghoul growling behind her. She bit her lip nervously.

"I would have painted your brains all over the walls the moment you dared to argue with me... however Simms says you are Erin's friend so for the final time, get the fuck out."

"Okay, yeah..." She mutters lowly, "I'm too exhausted to fight with you anyways."

"Sure, smoothskin."

The barrel is lifted from her neck, she turns slowly around to face him, barrel still at eye level. Charon was fuming in a thinly concealed rage. The ghoul was one step away from pulling the trigger and her brains painting the walls and she knew it, her wide eyes told him that much. Reagan was trying to remain calm, she's seen something this before with junkies, and she knew how junkies acted. Maybe Erin's ghoul was crashing hard off of ultrajet? Charon decided she was eyeing him for too long, he pumped the shotgun and Reagan nearly jumped out of her skin. Her copper skin seemed to pale.

"I got it!" She cried out.

Reagan walked around Charon to the stairs, making a bee line for the exit. She kept her eyes on him and his finger in the trigger. He was right on her with it, Charon would not even so much as glance away from her.

"This is complete bullshit. Don't you dare think that I ain't going to get you back for this." Reagan growled when she reached the ground floor, "I swear I'll get you back."

Charon was unaffected by such a weak threat. He kicked her pack towards her, silent. Reagan gathered up cans that rolled out, glancing between her belongings and his gun. Reagan turned away from him, opening the door slowly. Dogmeat was by the door, his head tilted. She was roughly shoved out the door to hurry her, he slammed the door closed before she could turn around to yell at him once more.

Charon stood facing the closed door, trying to regulate his breathing. His hands were too tight on his shotgun, he had nearly killed that woman, raider or not he could not break orders, Erin ordered no fighting outside of direct attacks. No matter how badly he wanted to see blood flying and letting out his stifled-up violence. Charon finally calmed himself to breathe normally, placing the shotgun back on the book shelf. He could hear her yelling outside at the shack, but he was not bothered by her noise. He went to the chair, pushing the gnome to the ground and sat down, listening to the little taps of rocks she threw at the tin. Dogmeat whined at the door, Charon grumbled at the dog under his breath. His worry turned back on where Erin could be.

Charon leaves the shack that morning with crate tucked under his arm, holding the door open with his boot heel long enough for Dogmeat to run out to stretch his old legs. The two took a left down the hill, stepping over the garden gnomes some kids moved around. People still give him a wide berth with the occasional glance in his direction. There were more people coming to Megaton every week, soon there would be no room for any more. He could barely avoid anyone on the paths like he used to. He didn't like Megaton, but it was better when there were only thirty people. He spotted Dogmeat running around the Brass Lantern, doing his best tricks for scraps to Andy that brought out a bowl of noodles for a customer at the stools. The damn dog always acted like he was never fed, growing fat from treats and lack of exercise. Hell, he felt the same.

Charon marched over walkway above the clinic when he happened to notice Jericho sitting on the clinic porch. He had a nasty black eye that was swollen shut, and bruises on his neck. Charon glared at him as he passed. There were one too many raiders in Megaton for his tastes. Jericho bitterly drank from his whiskey bottle as he leaned on the railing, even better was the rare sighting of Doc Church outside yelling at Jericho for his carelessness, but the doctor was probably more bitter about having stand out on his own porch than using stimpaks on a what looked to be injured from a good bar fight. A fight sounded nice. Dogmeat caught up with Charon's shadow when he passed Craterside Supply.

Charon pushed open the Saloon door with his shoulder. Gob was cleaning pint glasses, peeking through them to the sickly light bulb above him to find any sign of grime he could have missed before storing them below the bar. The Saloon was nearly empty inside at this hour, nothing out of the ordinary. Charon closed the distance to the counter with a few strides, placing the crate next to the radio. Gob hummed and tossed his dirty rag below the bar, digging through the crate of water and unlabeled glass bottles with curiosity. Gob took one of the bottles out, pulling out the cork. He sniffed loudly and took a sip, coughing. The ghoul knew the drill, Charon always ordered the same things to trade for purified water, moonshine and whatever else he didn't need. Before, Charon quickly got over his own curiosity with the moonshine produced from the homemade distillery Erin made with copper he salvaged. He called it a new hobby, and when Gob found out from Nova of Erin's moonshine, the ghoul personally came to the shack to try it himself. Charon couldn't stand the stuff, Gob and Erin loved it and apparently most of the settlement did too. Gob gave Erin a cut of caps for supplying the Saloon with his moonshine, or at least some trade. Erin was notorious for giving things away for free, even his own shirt off his back. Charon didn't see what was wrong with the choices between beer, whiskey and vodka that Gob normally offered for sale. It was decent and thought it was often watered down from caravans, he had worse served in other places, he never complained. Charon refused to drink any of the moonshine. His first trail sip with Erin months ago was enough to make him loose his breath. It was better to use it as paint thinner than to drink willingly and Charon was honestly surprised no one had died or gone blind because of Erin's moonshine just yet.

While in that moment of Gob going starry-eyed over more moonshine to stock, Charon looked to the loft above the bar when Nova came from her room trying to stifle a laugh, behind her came Reagan hanging on Nova's shoulder with her face in the woman's hair. The apparent ex-raider looked smaller without her gear making her look awkward. Now she only wore the rags and the padded football pants converted into armor pants. He expected malnutrition as a lot of scavengers ended up as they travelled endlessly, but in fact Reagan appeared to have more muscle tone than he could have guessed from what was revealed by the baggy sleeves rolled to her elbows. She definitely looked like she did a lot of manual work outside and even from constant exercise. The two giggling women made their way downstairs, Nova blowing smoke up to the rusty ceiling from her cigarette. She smiled at Charon warmly, wiggling her fingers at him. And Reagan, with dark bags under her amber eyes also raised her hand to wave until she saw Charon at the bar. Her bibulous smile melted away, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin before marching out the Saloon. Charon waited for Gob to stop laughing at Reagan and finish the trade out.

"Yeah, uh, Reagan is pretty pissed off that you kicked her out of Erin's place," Gob said between a laugh, taking the crate to the fridge, "she's can be pretty intense, huh Charon?"

"Why did you kick her out?" Nova asked, leaning against the bar.

"Trespassing."

"But that house is just as much as hers as it is Erin's. She helped him disarm the nuke outside."

Charon said nothing, he already heard that story from the Sheriff about the miraculous intervention of Erin shooting Mr. Burke and he didn't give two shits about it. He glared at the crate watching it fill up to replace the alcohol with food. Nova flicked her ashes into the tray next to her and shook her head.

"She's his girl you know." Nova mentioned.

Charon huffed. That sounded absolutely unbelievable but also tremendously hilarious to him. He couldn't pin the two as an item, not even once as a drunken one-night stand kind of way. Erin was pretty generous about his sexuality; a lot of his preferences were clean looking with blue eyes. To imagine Erin rolling around with a woman who was possibly twice Erin's size and looked like she could bench press a live rad scorpion without a sweat was pushing it. Charon even looked to Nova to see if she was jerking his chain, but no, Nova was very sincere.

"She saved his life too. Give her a chance, she's real fun."

Gob brought back the crate, setting it in front of him, "Listen, Reagan used to be pretty regular once before you came around. Nova and I love her to death but she's rowdy as hell. I'd keep an eye on her. But she isn't all bad... just don't leave any unattended vodka around her and expect her not to drink it all before you turn around."

"She's a raider, I do not care if you do vouch for her or not," Charon answered, pulling the crate closer, "she is not stepping foot in the shack until Erin gets back."

"My Reagan left that raider life behind long ago."

"Don't worry about it too much. Erin will be back before you know it, the two will fuck and then she'll take off again to who knows where."

Charon grumbled. When Erin gets back, he's going to demand answers. Nova stumped out the cigarette as several people came in, greeting them happily. Charon ignored a conversation that sparked up next to him. He was trying to focus on the radio. He held his breath when Three-Dog made an announcement about Erin, but it was only a recording of a previous adventure he couldn't quite recall. Charon ordered a shot of whiskey, it would help. Gob happily delivered.

Charon leaves the saloon once more people began to fill the seats. Too many bodies in one place all trying to drink more than the other while all trying to talk over one another, and it was all too much for Charon to linger around. The hot air outside was slightly refreshing, as refreshing as a wasteland could be for the lungs whether you are a ghoul or not. Charon shook the crate to settle the loose boxes of dried foods to keep them from shifting their weight and continued down the platform to the lower levels, anxious to get back to the shack in case Nova started to try again to engage in conversation with him. As one sided as the conversations were with him, she would eventually end up talking to Gob or a customer and glance to Charon as if he had been contributing the whole time. Small victories, she would say. Charon quit trying to scare her away years ago. Nova was a sweetheart, she had sass but very sweat. She held no grudges, Gob openly praised her for that. She would say she did not hate Charon for hurting Gob in the past, as they were all good friends now. Charon sometimes wished she wasn't so forgiving. She had no idea the things he's done in the past, but Gob knew things. Neither tried to correct her and Charon wasn't about to apologize for only following orders.

Halfway off the ramp over the clinic Charon spotted Simms in the door way of his home, it seems he had been stopped at the door by Reagan. His duster wasn't even on yet, and he was holding a mug of coffee despite it being almost midday. Must be the end of another week, another week Erin was missing. Charon only ambled in the direction of Simms' shack out of curiosity, a bad trait he recently picked up thanks to Erin's adventurous lifestyle. When he got close enough to eavesdrop, the two were having a bit of a disagreement. Reagan was waving her hands dramatically, her tone was low in in a forced whisper, sounding more like a hissing fit than a sound rebuttal to Simms' calmer statements. The sheriff looked very drained by the way his eyes kept focusing on his mug with more interest than what Reagan wanted. By now Charon had approached the two, looking between the both of them as if Simms would ask Charon to kick Reagan out of Megaton. Which he would definitely do, if asked. Simms smiled to Charon, politely greeting him. Reagan's shoulders tensed up and she gave the ghoul a sneer.

"Oh, what do you want?" Reagan hissed, forgetting she didn't need to whisper now.

"Is there a problem?"

"Not at all, Charon, me and Reagan are just talking about how lovely the glow is off the puddle around the bomb looks." Simms replied with a sarcastic smile sent Reagan's way.

She let out a loud humph, marching away behind the Sherriff's shack. Simms swirled his black coffee and sighed heavily, one attached to bad news. Charon narrowed his eyes, he didn't mean to be a nosey parker, he couldn't care much for problems of others. He only came this way incase Simms needed backup if the raider got out of control.

"Have you heard anything from Erin?" Simms asked.

"No."

Simms nodded, looking back to his mug, "Yeah, I was afraid of that."

"What do you know?"

"Not a thing more than you. But, you gotta wonder if he's alright."

Charon wanted to wring his neck. As if Charon wasn't already stressed out enough already.

"Do you think Erin is alright?"

Charon walked by Simms. He didn't need to hear this. The sheriff didn't mean any harm by asking aloud what Charon was wondering constantly himself, but it still annoyed the hell out of him, nonetheless. Charon had decided that morning he would not leave Megaton. He couldn't leave now. Erin could literally be back any moment now and the stress would be over, he wouldn't have to go out and find his corpse and start all over again by finding a new contract holder. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Charon shook his head at the memory of Erin's sunburned hands holding his contract out to him, saying it was his mistake for thinking this was an easy contract to resolve. As if simply handing it back to Charon would just erase the whole purpose of his existence. Erin was such a naïve, sunburned little idiot. But the easiest to work for by far, no one came close to comparison. It was a bit unnerving at first with Erin's generosity, Charon wasn't sure if Erin would be those sadistic types to give with one hand and snatch away with the other. Five and a half years later, a long time for a good-natured employer. Good things never lasted long out here in Capital Wasteland. Charon scowled. No. Erin was coming back. He wasn't dead in some damn ditch, any moment now that little vault bastard will be dragging a bag of junk to ask Charon to help him carry it to trade it off at the Craterside Supply. Any moment-

Charon was shocked from his thoughts when he rounded the corner to the shack, finding himself apart of a growing crowd gathered around Jericho and Reagan in the middle of a fist fight on the front porch. He scoffed loudly at their sloppy swings at one another, becoming increasingly amused by their tantrums, like two disorderly teenagers pretending to be hard-ass punks. Jericho got in a lot of good slugs at Reagan, her nose was so bloody, no one could tell if there was any serious damage to her already scarred face. Jericho's black eye had swelled close again, and Reagan landed some pretty powerful hits to the man's kidneys to the point of no doubt the man would be pissing blood for a while for sure. Reagan couldn't dodge for shit. Actually, the more Charon observed, he discovered Reagan didn't even bother blocking Jericho's fist. The crowd thought Reagan was through when Jericho tripped Reagan, shoving her back onto her ass.

Jericho soaked up the victory, grabbing his crotch at her. Charon rolled his eyes, he didn't have to hear what was said to know it was disgusting. Charon sat the crate down at the doorway, reaching in his pocket for the shack keys when he saw the flash of steel. Reagan had rolled to her feet, a knife in her grasp. Jericho's grin was wiped from his face when she grabbed his own hand that had a hold of privates, the other with the knife poised to slice. Reagan's head collided with Jericho's nose and blood splashed out of his face into her hair like a broken hose. Charon had stepped in at that time, grabbing her wrist before she could slice down and publicly castrate Jericho in front of all of Megaton, including children. As much as he would have enjoyed watching Jericho get his ass beat, this was definitely not the place to do this. Simms had raced to the scene by now, his hat half way on his head, his rifle in the other. He stared at the three like an angry father catching his kids with cherry bombs and the plumbing. His face darkened with the rush of blood to his face, it was rare Lucas Simms raised his voice.

"Clear out people!" He hollered, causing the crowd to quickly disburse.

Reagan let go of Jericho's nuts and jerked her hand from Charon's grasp, not before he took her weapon away.

"I literally just spoke with you an hour ago," Simms snapped at Jericho, "and you two a couple of minutes ago, what the fuck do you three think you are doing? I ought to lock all three of you up for fighting in town!"

"That fucking scum right there, Simms!" Jericho hollered out, "that bitch should be banned from Megaton!"

"You're the bitch!" Reagan cried out at him, "you deserve every bit of this shit!"

"Shut up, both of you, I don't care who started it. You know the laws here." Simms snapped, his tone slowly calming down to normal, "You're already on your last strike Reagan. Charon, I'm disappointed you got involved-"

"He didn't do anything." Reagan said quickly.

Simms waved his hands to shut her up, passing her to grab Jericho by the arm, escorting him away. He was certainly getting an earful of Jericho's side of the story. Charon glowered at Reagan.

"I was gunna kill him." Reagan said, matter of factly, like discussing the weather.

"Do you usually do for the genitals, or the throat, like a damn dog?"

"Oh, only you get to kill in this town because you live with Erin? I didn't know being in cohorts with the good ol' fuckin Messiah of the Wasteland leaves you diplomatic immunity! You have the audacity to stop me from a little attempted castration..." Reagan let out a loud dry laugh, "Yeah I heard bout them Talon Mercs you curb stomped in front of everybody."

"Remember that."

Reagan smirked, a lopsided smile and her cracked teeth poked out. She looked like some cartoony cannibal with her face covered in blood and jagged teeth. She nodded, lifting her chin, widening her stance to bounce on her heels. Charon furrowed his brow, was she about to swing at him now?

"Alright. Charon." Reagan said, saying his name with such a weird emphasis that made him even more annoyed, "I'll see you soon. We gotta talk, like I talked with Lucas."

Charon scowled at her.

Reagan leaned towards him, he turned a shoulder away from her to stay out of arms reach. She pointed to his hand, "You can keep that. Made it this morning."

"Do not let me catch you here again."

Reagan didn't seem to hear him, or perhaps chose to ignore him. She spun on the heel of her cleats and headed back towards the other side of Megaton. The little metal spikes made her steps sound like Dogmeat's claws on the tin. Charon looked down at his hand, opening his palm to look at the rusty shiv with a duct tape handle. The blade was long with a barb at the end to really do some serious damage if she had stabbed Jericho instead, that is if Charon hadn't stepped in and if Jericho had survived Reagan's attempted maiming, Jericho would probably die from blood poisoning from all the rust on the makeshift blade. Charon held the tip of the shiv between his thumb and index finger, chucking it high and as far as he could over the walls into the Wastes out of her reach if she came back for it. Content with his throw, he found the shack key finally in his pocket, only to discover the door had already been unlocked and Dogmeat was happily waiting for him inside. Charon let the door swing open wide, pushing the crate in with his boot going inside the shack. A quick glance upstairs on the balcony and he fumed. Erin was still gone, and he had locked the shack door behind him before he left to go to the saloon, and he was sure of it. Reagan was the obvious suspect, after all she was just outside the shack while he was away, and she was the only one trying to get into it. Charon slammed the shack door close, causing the makeshift picture frames on the walls tilt. 

Another fucking day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simms speaks with Reagan about Jericho. No one wants to live in a dead man's house.  
> Reagan and Charon have a civilized conversion... that defiantly didn't end in jail time.

Sheriff Simms sauntered into the Saloon, taking off his cowboy hat to wipe his forearm across his brow. It was particularly hot this afternoon, the kind that kept troublemakers inside, for the most part. Simms stood on his toes briefly, trying to peek over the group of settlers and scaver, he could see Gob at the bar refilling beer bottles with what he had in supply. Above him were the fans, spinning fast and rocking nearly loose from its bolts keeping it attached to the ceiling. Gob always made sure the fans worked and were always in good conditions, which is why half the settlement was inside the saloon. However, Gob seemed to be running short of lightbulbs. Last time he stepped into the saloon to drag Jericho off, it wasn't this dim inside. Nova appeared out of the crowd, when she passed him, she smiled and gave a sweet greeting to Simms carrying a tray filled with beer orders. Simms didn't even get to utter out a response before she had to rush off. Simms made a path through the people standing between him and the bar, many who saw him also gave a swift hello and some rushed away. He could smell chemicals over the cigar smoke and stench of body sweat in the small space, but who ever had the chems made themselves scarce. There wasn't an outright ban on chems, but a lot of people in Megaton preferred chem use to be done in private.

Simms found Reagan at the furthest corner end of the bar, close to where Nova usually leaned against the wall. He made a bee line to her, she didn't even see him at first as she was laughing at some pour drunken fool that slipped off his bar stool. At first, Simms thought she was going to help him up, but her deft hands were taking his caps and whatever else she could get from his pockets. When Reagan looked up, she quickly gave the things back by dumping them all in the drunk's lap, giving an innocent smile to Simms. The attempt was more of a forceful smile, her scarring across her lips took away the innocent attempt. Reagan stepped back from the drunk, and his nearby friends found him and picked off the floor and moved away. Reagan took her seat back at the bar when Simms walked past her to take post at the end of the bar next to her so that he could see the entire crowd and her. From this perspective, he could spot the few familiar faces of new residents, no strangers passing through, just the locals. On his left, Dogmeat was laying on his side to enjoy the cool breeze the fans blew over him, there was a bowl of water and an empty can of dog food near his paws.

Reagan kept her eyes on Simms, leaning forward to the bar to sip the vodka bottle in front of her. She also tried to keep that innocent smile. Simms decided to overlook the attempted robbery, for now. Reagan was usually doing things far more aggressive than simply preying on drunks. She kept herself in the back of the bar from the crowd and out of the way, perhaps not looking for a bit of excitement, so her robbery wasn't premeditated, just an opportunity. Reagan shifted her eyes to Gob when he placed glasses under the bar, then right back on the Sheriff. Her innocent smile went away, transforming into that lazy smile of hers.

"Sheriff Simms?" Reagan muttered. It was a greeting with a lingering suspicion to her tone.

Simms stepped out of Nova's way when she went behind the bar, "How are you doing today, Reagan?"

She shrugged, "I didn't have a heat stroke today. What about you?"

"I tried to stay hydrated." Simms nodded, "You aren't planning anything that could cause trouble, are you?"

"Did you hunt me down to ask me if I'm going to be trouble?"

Simms shrugged next, "I'm just reminding you of your last strike. Just trying to keep the peace."

Reagan stuck out her lip then laughed, "I don't have a schedule, sorry Simms, my troublemaking is pretty flexible."

"Like with that young man?"

"Sir, I was making sure he didn't break his pelvis." She said, passing a wink to Nova, "not like I was trying to cut his balls off!"

Simms nearly shuddered at the thought of how close that had got. It was still pretty jarring, Jericho even requested to stay an extra day in the holding cell.

"Now, Reagan, that was pretty excessive what you tried to do. If you had gone through with it, I would have been forced to kick you out of Megaton for good. I know you don't like Jericho, but you need to learn to respect boundaries if you're going to be staying here. Not once has he approached you for a fight. I already had this talk with him-"

"You can save your breath right there," Reagan interrupted, "I'm not going to respect Jericho. That's the end of that."

"Why not?"

"Personal reasons."

Simms sighed, "Just stop attacking him. I'm tired of running across Megaton to break it up."

"What? Getting old?"

Simms gave her a look. "You don't have to respect him, just... keep yourself on the other side the crater. Don't even look at him."

Reagan narrowed her bright eyes. She rubbed her chin in exaggerated thought. Simms watched her scrunch her nose in annoyance. At least she was thinking about it. Simms waved at one of the settlers that yelled hello to him from across the bar. He turned back to Reagan, gesturing for an answer. She took a drink of her vodka bottle, then scowled, shrugging her shoulders back with a tilt of her head. She gestured back to him, mirroring his movement.

"I'll deal with you here," she raised her hand to stop him from interjecting and lifted her chin, "So, I'll leave Jericho alone. I won't try anything, I'll avoid him, you know... and I won't sucker punch him or try to cut him up..."

Simms waited for the conditions. He had made little deals like this before with her, she was surprisingly obedient if he kept his end of the bargain. He was anxious to hear what it could be, a few times before she asked for simple things like tools or her gear back, once she had asked for something almost too big for him to promise and he had managed to talk her down to something more reasonable.

"I'm taking too much of the bed upstairs, there's not a lot of room between those two. Erin's butler won't let me in my own house. And I'm angry with you for not getting involved, by the way, but that's not the topic, is it? So, I'll leave Jericho alone but you gotta let me stay in that house."

"I don't think that will be possible." Simms shook his head, "actually, I know it will be impossible. Charon's doing his job and I can't do anything about that. Erin's house is private property."

"Bullshit," Reagan hissed, leaning closer to him to keep others from eavesdropping, "My name is on the deed also! I'm being forced out of my own home, Sheriff. I'm getting down right fucking upset about it, if you didn't already notice."

Simms raised one of his hands in hopes to de-escalate her rising temper, "Reagan..."

"Sheriff." She responded curtly.

"I'm sorry but I'm not getting involved with that. I don't want there to be a disruption." Simms explained, knowing that's what she didn't want to hear.

"Yeah, right, disrupting the goddamn peace of Megaton." Reagan mocked, "My belongings are in that shack. One of them being my own bed! I ain't fucking going to the common house. I came all this way, I am not heading back west this time of year."

Simms tried to calm her down, gesturing to her to lower her tone. She was starting to get that look in her eyes, thankful she wasn't getting too disruptive, but that didn't mean she might not still. Simms knew painfully well that Reagan hated being denied her property. They argued every time she came to visit, checking her weapons at the door. She lost her privilege long ago for having her weapons in the settlement unchecked like everyone else. Reagan bared her teeth at him and turning to give her bottle of vodka a glare, picking at the wrapper with her chipped fingernails. Simms rubbed at his temple, glancing across the bar to notice Gob watching them. The bartender turned away back to cleaning the glasses when he realized he had been caught eavesdropping. Simms scanned over the crowd once more, a few people had wandered outside giving others more room to get nearer to the bar. That's when Simms figured out a plan.

"Burke's house?" Simms offered.

Reagan sat down the bottle, dabbing her lips with the back of her baggy sleeve. "I do like looking at the bomb... but I don't know. It ain't my place. I know he's dead and was a bastard. Don't seem right."

Simms sighed through his nose, scratching an itch under his chin. Reagan staying in the abandoned house just for a few more weeks of peace? It didn't seem fair that Reagan would stay free in a private building while half the settlers stayed in a common house. The common house was nearly crowded to begin with, Simms had ordered for a few mattresses to make up for the population growth, but who knows how long that would take. And the possibility of Reagan growing bored enough to rob everyone was very high. Simms knew already there wouldn't be any bargaining with Charon, even if Simms brought a copy of the deed as proof, and to explain why she couldn't go home to the Megaton shack was out of the question, if she could understand that situation to begin with. It could be worth the peace. Burke's house was left untouched since Erin shot the bastard, saving Simms' life. Nobody even went around it as it is, and no offers to buy it ever came around either. Simms sighed again. It would be better than having the settlers pissed because their belongs was being pawned off, better than Charon killing Reagan and whoever else who happened to be in the way only to worsen the outcome, it was also better than Jericho's aggressive behavior heighten when he wasn't paranoid for imminent danger or locked in a death match with Reagan. Reagan's visits to Megaton were tricky, sometimes Reagan would lock herself away in the shack after trading all her rare supply to Moria. Sometimes she was trying to fight anyone. It would be that way for a week or three, then she would leave Megaton. Sometimes no fights occurred. With Erin's absence, it really changed up the whole routine. It even started to affect the population. People were walking around on eggshells, tonight had been a short reprieve but as soon as Simms let out Jericho, it might get worse.

Reagan tapped her fingers on the counter tops then nodded, "Alright. The cater shack until Erin comes back and this whole thing gets resolved. It will be resolved."

"Good. I'll give the key in the morning, but if you get in a fight with Jericho again, I'm taking it away and kicking you out, do you understand me?"

"Yeah, I'll leave Jericho alone for now."

Reagan smiled, holding out her oil stained hand. For now, was better than a no. Simms gave her a firm handshake, trying not to visibly cringe when she squeezed his hand too tightly. Reagan let out a good-natured laugh and ordered Simms a beer, Nova passed it along to them. Simms hoped he hadn't made a mistake.

\---

It was late in the evening, Charon had been waiting for the sun to set. One more fan has stopped working leaving behind one remaining and its future looked particularly grim. The damn place was falling apart without Erin keeping up on maintenance. He finished reassembling his shotgun, placing it back on the shelf. He grabbed the crumbled pack of smokes and stepped outside. The wind that blew over the gates would occasionally pass if he was near the railing, cooling him down. Charon had managed to find a thin shirt and some of the military pants given to him to change into. It helped with a lot of the heat, though if those damn fans would just work, it could be almost comfortable. He glanced around out of habit, watching a few groups of people moving from the saloon, drunk and stumbling down platforms, some laughing at one another as they struggled to shuffle towards the Brass Lantern below. Usual traffic for this time of day.

Charon blew smoke, deciding if a bowl of noodles sounded like a decent snack. Erin loved noodles, he would talk all day about different types of noodles, especially rice noodles. Erin said that he missed that about the vault. He would swear to Charon that he would make a huge pot full and they would eat until they were sick. From his understanding of what Erin had tried to explain by the noodles us that no one has lived until they had a bowl of Erin's Special Noodle Soup. Charon never gone to the Brass Lantern on his own accord. Last time either of them had gone to the Brass Lantern it had been about the water supply investigation. Erin had convinced one of the men in that family to confront his siblings about his chem addiction to receive support to overcome the urges. Charon nodded to himself, that reminded him why he didn't go there. Charon watched Sheriff Simms leave the saloon, ambling his way down the platforms also, except a lot more sober than the others. Seeing the sheriff only reminded Charon of the confrontation with Reagan two nights ago.

And as if the mere thought of Reagan had summoned her, he saw her move out under the light above the saloon door behind a group of three. She was moving along the edge of the buildings, just out if the light but not too far where she was forced to go off the platform. She was wearing some burlap shirt that was too big for her, it made her look almost like a regular scaver like anywhere else. The way Reagan moved wasn't like a scaver, anyone could see it if they paid attention. Charon backed up from the railing, leaning against the shack wall in the shadow with his arms cross and watching Reagan duck behind Nathan and Manya's home. It could be likely she may be scooping out the shacks, testing doors to see if they had been locked tight, maybe moving to lay in wait for a lonely drunk to mug. He was going to finish his cigarette and go back inside, until he saw Reagan leaning over the railing with binoculars. It had him curious, wondering just what the hell she was doing. He followed her line of sight.

Brass Lantern.

It didn't come to him at first, not until the binoculars raised and focused on his position. He cursed under his breath. She had been looking for Sheriff Simms and sneaking around. Reagan was definitely up to no good and with a plan. Charon watched her ditch the binoculars, jogging over the platforms, crossing over the makeshift bridge and making her way past Lucy's shack. Charon huffed. She did not look happy, probably drunk. Reagan didn't carry a weapon, but from what he saw with Jericho, Charon knew he should be prepared for one. Reagan slowed to a march as she passed Jericho's shack, she was moving with intention, aggressively. Charon placed the cigarette to the corner of his mouth and crossed his arms. Her scars made her glare wicked, shoulder hunched once she stopped nearer. She looked like she was trying to intimidate him through a bluff. He moved in front of the door.

"Move." She ordered, "me and Erin earned that shack you're squatting in."

"What did I tell you?" He grumbled.

"Come off that wall so I can kick your big ass up and down this crater."

"Sure, smoothskin." he said sarcastically.

"I'll kick your ass to the fuckin moon." She snapped, "fucking kick your ass back in time before them bombs dropped on your ass."

Charon pushed off the wall, taking two steps and stopped. His hands were at his sides watching her stretch her arms, rolling her shoulders like some sort of prewar prize fighter preparing to go into the ring. He nearly chewed through the filter of the cigarette in thinly concealed anticipation for a fight. He couldn't start it, he had orders, but he knew damn well Reagan would be the one to shatter that rule. All she had to do was attack him and he would end this problem swiftly. Reagan pushed her sleeves to her freckled elbows, not once taking her eyes off of him.

"I said I was going to get you back." Reagan repeated a little louder.

She did not like the silence. She marched up three long steps closer, standing up straight and puffing her chest out and fists ready at her sides.

"This is mutual combat, ain't it?"

Charon still said nothing, standing like a statue. He was waiting for her to shove his shoulder. Just waiting for the aggressive force that would justify his response. He was so ready to fight. He was excited but couldn't provoke. Reagan was staring up at him with the most perplexed reaction. Her nose scrunched up right where the scaring crossed over the bridge, lifting the less damaged eyebrow. Charon watched her tilt her head, sizing him up. He had made no attempt to keep the knife hidden, he had the sheath to his side. It was in the open. Reagan's eyes lingered there on the knife a moment longer before they shot back up to meet his eyes.

"You ain't saying nothing?" Reagan asked, clearly annoyed.

Charon's continued silence and stillness was frustrating her. Reagan must have planned for an argument, finding none here. Charon wasn't about to argue with her when he already warned her about coming back. There was nothing else to say about it. It had thrown her game off, her confidence she had coming in waned. It was a situation alien to her, and it was amusing to watch her struggle to maintain her control. She was visibly starting to squirm, shifting her weight back and forth, expressions ranging from annoyance to confusion then suspicion. Charon wasn't going to back down to her bluff. He had no reason to, though he could just go back inside the shack and leave her out here but not tonight. They were cooped up for too long. Reagan regained her confidence and stood up straight again. Reagan wasn't going to back down either, clearly too stupid to realize the apparent danger. Charon blew out smoke above her. She lifted her chin and nodded once, her stance deflated, and her heels touched the platform. Charon clinched his jaw, feeling a small sense of disappointment noticing Reagan was backing down.

The left hook took him completely off guard. It felt like he had been hit by a charging behemoth head on. He took half a step back to hold his balance, clutching his jaw. He tasted blood and the cigarette had dropped to the platform. He saw stars on the edge of the creeping darkness, if she had better aim and hit him in the chin, Charon was sure he might have dropped. It was a surprise, he fucking hated surprises. He took another half step back, feet shoulder width apart as he turned back to give Reagan one of his nastiest glares. Reagan was shocked, looking like she didn't expect him to be standing still. The punch was probably enough for knocking out raiders, ending a fight quickly that way, but he was still on his feet and pissed. Her amber eyes grew big, possibly just realizing the reality of the situation she just put herself in now. Charon moved quick before she could even utter a curse, drawing his knife in a flash. Reagan narrowly moved out of the way, backing up to try to put a distance between the two of them. She was panicking, barely dodging. He sliced a wide arch and ripped the knife through the baggy sleeve and drew blood, but she was lucky not to have lost that limb completely. He took wider steps than her, staying right in close so she couldn't get distance, lunging forward when she took a step and left herself exposed for the killing blow. She pivoted her foot to step out of the way at the right moment and then her panic was gone.

When she took the step aside, Charon left himself exposed, arm extended. Reagan grabbed hold of his extended arm that held the knife and wasn't going to let him have it back. Charon bent his arm to shake her off, catching the edge of her elbow to his sore jaw, leaving his torso open to a studded knee pad striking into his stomach. It didn't hit as hard as her punch, he was easily shaking it off. Then a swift kick to the back of his sore knee that sent reeling pain through his nerves. It only pissed him off more. He threw a jab or two with his free hand, the position she forced him into was awkward to do any decent damage, but it kept him from passing the knife to his free hand, but he could hear her little pained grunts as his fist connected with the sturdy padding she wore beneath the baggy shirt. Reagan lifted her knee again and he moved to protect his groin. It was a trick that forced him to go off balance. Charon felt pain shoot up his arm when she twisted his wrist in a threat to snap it. He didn't care if she tried to break it off, he refused to let go of the knife. The twist turned more as she placed herself further on his side, locking his arm from bending by holding her forearm above his elbow, next thing he knew he was looking down at the ground...

At the Brass Lantern Sheriff Simms was finishing his bowl of noodles. Lucy made the best noodles in Capital Wasteland, not that there was much competition, but Simms had had some pretty bad noodles before. The Brass Lantern didn't have much for seasoning, occasionally a trader would have an old dried pepper to sell. It was expensive, spices were rare here, Lucy tried to spend her whole cap fund on that pepper. Erin arrived just in time. Erin had enough caps stored away to buy her the pepper and help her purchase a bigger pot to be able to supply the slow but surely growing population in Megaton after the Enclave had been removed. Lucy cooked up a large batch for everyone, it had been a long time since Simms saw Lucy so happy. She gave them small pinches of the pepper she had grinded into a powder. Needless to say, Simms wasn't expecting it to be so spicy, living on bland unseasoned campfire meals and stale prewar food his entire life. It was fun. Every time a long-traveled trader stopped by, Simms would pitch in with Lucy to by any spices brought over. Simms smiled at Lucy as she stepped away from collecting empty bowls in tall balanced stacks.

"I'll have one more, then I'll head home for the night."

"I can make time for one more bowl for you, sheriff."

Andy wandered in from his smoke break, helping his sister collect the other bowls further from the register, dumping left over noodles, barbecue sticks and other bits of food into a larger bowl. The night was quieting down finally, cooling off nicely. The fans inside the Brass Lantern were repaired recently by Moria yesterday morning, now working like new, or at least close to new for being over 200 years old. The fans had nothing on the saloon, it had a proper ventilation grate to cycle out the stale air that collected in crowds. Lucy placed Simms' empty bowl on top the others just as a loud wham from above startled Simms. Lucy dropped all the bowls, hand on top of her head. Simms stepped off the bar stool, listening for gun fire. It didn't sound like a mine or grenade blast, but it had been loud enough to cause the old rusted bars to vibrate off collected dust from the Brass Lantern ceiling. Andy stepped out of the back room, looking around. Simms marched outside, followed by Lucy and Andy. They wandered out to the center of the crater, their guns drawn and ready, looking around for any damage. No one was left outside, everyone must have made it back to their beds. That's when Simms heard it again, coming from the platform above. He turned over his shoulder then frowned. He quickly said goodnight to Lucy and Andy, rushing up the hill as quick as he could.

"Let it go!" Reagan hissed.

Reagan had managed by pure luck to twist Charon's arm behind his back, using his weight against him to put him on the ground. It seemed like the angrier he got, the stronger he became. He lifted himself back up with her weight on top of him not hindering his movement as if he was doing a simple push up. She wasn't going to let go, her left arm was bent around his neck in a death grip and the other kept the knife away from her. Reagan's body was aching painfully from being constantly slammed between the metal wall and Charon's back. She couldn't twist his wrist any further from her angle, but it didn't keep her from attempting to break his arm to prevent him from cutting her into pieces right then and there. The headlock wasn't secured enough either, losing the effect more and more with each blow her back took against the wall. If she didn't have to deal with a knife, she could have executed the hold correctly and have him stumbling into unconsciousness. Reagan was pissed off when she swung at Charon, only wanting to fight out her anger with him, but Charon was literally trying to kill her. The moment she saw it she knew how badly she fucked up, but she had nowhere to run. Charon slammed her into the wall again, his free hand keeping a gap in her hold so he could force in breaths. Reagan groaned in pain, again the air was knocked from her lungs and fighting the raising panic.

"I'll break your fucking neck!" Reagan growled between gasps for air. Not sounding threatening at all, "you fucking bastard! Give up!"

It didn't work. It wasn't going to work, not even when she had almost enough pressure to break his wrist was going to stop him. There was a lot of anger and Reagan could see it. She definitely should have listened to Nova and Gob, regretting this decision. And she couldn't even blame it on the alcohol. The next blow, the back if her head hit the metal. It made her vision swim, but held on, knowing it was slipping. Reagan's mind was racing, trying to think how she could get away from Charon if she lost her grip. She could run, make it out of the gates before he could get close. It was the only thing keeping her alive right now. Reagan shook the dizziness away, able to gain proper footing on the platform when Charon's knee bent down. He had a bad knee, she could exploit it. Reagan tucked her arm in further tightening the choke hold. She felt his heart beat hammering against her bare arm. Her fright was slipping away as she realized he was weakening. She managed to bring him down to a knee, but he was still fighting her. Reagan was praying he would pass out soon, she was barely able to hold on as it is.

"Stop it both of you!" Simms' voice cried out from nearby.

"Fuck off Sheriff, can't you see we're busy?" Reagan gibed.

"You both are under arrest."

"Fuck off." Charon choked.

Reagan bit her cheek to keep from laughing. She glanced over her shoulder. Sheriff Simms was glaring at them, his rifle at his shoulder but the barrel wasn't raised or directed at the two of them, watching them struggle to overpower the other. Charon let out a snarl and pushed himself off his knee, slamming Reagan into the side of the wall again, the force was stronger than the others and she cried out a curse. She nearly lost her grip this time, but a knee to the spine had thrown Charon off balance back to his knees again. Reagan heard the loud slide and crack of a charging handle pulled back and released. It caused her to shudder, turning her head a tad to look over her shoulder to see the barrel of an assault rifle pointing towards them. Reagan saw how angry Sheriff Simms' he was as walked around to their front. He glared down at Charon. Reagan considered letting the ghoul go for just a moment.

"I fucking said, the both are you are under arrest." Simms' tone definitely was serious, "drop your weapon. You know the law. Don't make me shoot the two of you."

Reagan felt Charon's struggle against her stop, but he hasn't moved. She stared ahead at Simms, watching the intensity of his glare starting to slip into noticeable unease. The sheriff was starting to look nervous. Charon took his sweet time glaring at Simms, before eventually opening his hand and dropping the knife. Simms' heel of his boot kicked the knife close so he could confiscate it. Reagan loosened her hold around his neck though not sure if she should out right let him go yet. Charon raised both his hands, grumbling under his breath. That was pretty convincing. She let him go, rushing out of arms reach. Charon picked himself off the platform, glaring down at Simms in silence. Simms gestured with the barrel of his rifle to the right. Charon didn't obey right away, and Reagan saw how Simms was nearly sick from Charon's stare. But when he finally moved, Reagan followed behind him and Simms fell in step right behind her with his rifle still raised. She noticed that it wasn't pointed directly at her, neither was Simms' complete attention. She might even guess that Simms was frightened of Charon. It made her wonder what about the ghoul that could make Simms scared. Reagan was cautious, but not frightened of Charon, however she certainly was during the fight. Then again, she had a problem having a healthy sense of danger to begin with.

The way to Simms' shack was slower than it needed to be, the air between the three of them was tense, too tense. It was unnerving. No words were said, Reagan couldn't think of anything to say. Usually when escorted to the bunker, Reagan jokingly called it a sex dungeon, throwing jokes and taunts left and right. She knew she would be released in the morning. Right now, Reagan was still trying to determine if she had actually died a few seconds ago and if this was even real. Her adrenaline was still racing through her veins and her hands tugged at the sleeves of her shirt. She nearly said something right then. Anything to break up this weird tension. Sheriff Simms never looked this nervous even during attacks on Megaton. They arrived at the makeshift bunker along the wall of Simms' shack, marching down stairs sheriff Simms unlocked the door and pushed it open to allow Charon and Reagan to go inside. The bunker was being used as a small jail as well as holding cans of preserved food and water. It had changed slightly since Reagan was last in here, the single cell that took up the majority of the small room was now sectioned into two cells with benches to sit and one of them held Jericho. He stood up from his bench and a wicked smile flashed from his lips. Reagan glared across the room at him.

"So, this is where you've been hiding?" Reagan mocked as they moved closer.

"Finally, justice for the innocent."

"Did you just call yourself innocent?"

"You tried to cut my balls off!"

"Hey! Tone it down!" Simms snapped.

Reagan turned her head to watch Simms lock the cell door behind Charon, then moving her back so he could let Jericho out of his cell. Reagan shifted her weight on the balls of her feet, ready to fight if the man came out swinging. Instead he simply walked out with a smile, watching her fume. She hated him. She wanted to pop the eyes out of his face. They were mocking her. She nearly had, but managed to hold herself back, remained behind Simms until he instructed her to step into the cell. Reagan followed his direction reluctantly, holding her glare on Jericho even as the door closed and locked tight. Jericho slowly walked up the stairs, giving her a little taunting wave with his hand before leaving completely.

"When do I get out?" Reagan asked.

"On good behavior." Simms answered.

The sheriff stepped back from the cells to look between the two of them. Reagan already began to pace her cell, testing the weight of the bench. Charon sat at his with his arms crossed over his chest.

"So tomorrow?"

"Possibly." Simms answered, walking towards the stairs.

"Hey! Sheriff!" Reagan called out, pressing her face again the bars of the cell door, "you let Nova know I'm here?"

Simms shut the door to the bunker, the single light bulb in the center of the room was their only light. It was extremely quiet. Reagan paced the cell again, then sat down at the bench. She looked to her left. Charon hadn't moved an inch, still glowering towards the door with his arms crossed. He hadn't made a sound. This was going to be a long wait. Reagan adjusted the torn sleeve so she could look at the cut over her bicep. It wasn't deep, it stopped bleeding before they got into the cells. Dried blood caked her skin and stained her sleeve. Reagan got up from her bench and leaned into the far wall of her cell, arm out stretched to reach for the shelf nearest to her. She managed to hook the tip of her finger on the cap of bottled water, knocking it to the floor. She knelt down and reached for it, bringing it into the cell. Reagan returned to her bench, tearing off the ruined baggy sleeve, soaking the cleaner end with water and began to clean the blood off her skin.

Her adrenaline finally crashed completely, leaving her feeling exhausted and in aching pain. Her ribs ached something fierce. She gingerly pressed at her side to quickly inspect and assess the full damage. No doubt it would have been worse if she wasn't expecting him to retaliate, or more if she wasn't still wearing the leather padding she wore normally under her gear. She imagined the bruise was pretty big, the real pain would kick in tomorrow, but it can always be dulled with alcohol. Reagan checked her arm again, the fight kept replaying in her head. It had been a long time since she considered running from a fight. She glanced back to Charon. Still no movement, not even for an itch. His chest slowly rose and fell with each breath, but otherwise statuesque.

"So... Charon." Reagan muttered, her voice sounding too loud for the space they were in, "How long have you been in Megaton?"

Charon sat still and silent.

Reagan dabbed at the blood, parts were starting to clear away slowly so she was able to get a peek at a corner of the cut. It didn't look deep enough to worry about, it might leave behind a small scar if any. She looked back at Charon, holding up the water bottle.

"Want some water?"

Reagan frowned again, nothing. She thought about yelling at him but realized that wouldn't do her any good. She held the damp sleeve over the remaining dried blood to soak it, staring at Charon. She couldn't understand how anyone could stay so still and quiet without fidgeting some way. If she stayed too still, she started to feel strange and unsafe, her foot was always bouncing or her fingers tinkering with something, maybe pulling at loose threads on a shirt, or pulling at wires in a prewar scrap heap. Her brother had directed her antsy energy into learning how to repair. Picking up books to learn more until she could perfect her skill. Her aunt had been pretty forceful with trying to aim her towards become a nurse like her when Reagan came of a noticeable age for a young woman, teaching her everything Reagan could absorb but somehow, she couldn't keep herself focused on one trick. A future where she was locked away in a tent patching up bullet holes didn't sound so satisfying. Reagan rubbed away the blood on her arm.

"You're staying in my room, right?" Reagan asked.

Reagan decided Charon definitely wasn't going to start responding.

"You know, you're really good at fighting. I almost had you real good but couldn't get a hold. I had fun... but I don't know about you though."

Reagan narrowed her eyes, watching him carefully. She wasn't as expressive as Erin, but she was cocky, and she knew this. She knew how to jive and get another person to say anything. Charon wasn't going to do any of that, the most expressive she had ever seen him was in the middle of the fight. Where the hell did Erin find this guy? He was extremely quiet and so still, so she watched him and wondered.

"You must have started working with Erin right after I left."

Reagan dropped the bloodied sleeve on the bench next to her, picking up the water bottle.

"That must have been annoying. I talk a lot, but Erin talks constantly."

Reagan bit her lip to hide a smile, noticing the twitch in his eye brow. There it is. She had barely noticed it. She could get through. She stood up slowly, moving carefully as if she was trying to sneak up next to him. She lifted her chin and gazed down at him, starting to take a big step along the shared cell wall. She was trying to figure him out. Practically unreadable but if anything, all his body language was constantly broadcasting him as unapproachable. Reagan narrowed her eyes, clutching the cell bars to lean on, the other holding the water bottle to her neck. Charon didn't even glance her way, eyes never leaving the stairway. He acted as if she wasn't in the cell next to him only few feet away. Reagan knew he was listening. He had no choice but to listen to her even if he did try to ignore her.

"Yeah... when me and Erin first met all he had was a little broken pistol and a bright blue vault suit! He acted like I saved his damn life. Well, I did, since my brother was fixing to cut him up."

Reagan unscrewed the water bottle, and took a short sip, twisting the cap back on. She turned her head to the stairs then back to Charon. She moved a little further down the shared wall, moving a little closer to his bench. He was out of reach, siting perfectly in the middle of the bench, and she had to set the water bottle down behind her, so she didn't fall for the urge to toss it at him to get him to move even just a tiny hair. She sighed, blowing air to make her hair move from her face and stick to her sweaty forehead. The ventilation was poor in the bunker.

"Yep. We got out to Megaton. We traveled. He just has to help people, like, what is up with that? Seems like every time I turn around, he's accepting to help someone find their missing shoe or some shit."

Reagan saw it again, deciding now for sure that if their interactions were to continue, she would have to observe him much closer than anyone else she's met so far. Charon can't be that bad, Erin called him a friend. Reagan pressed her face to small space between the bars. Her eyes scanned over Charon. He hasn't fixed his shirt, it was still roughed up by their scuffle. It was stained with smudges of her blood on the fabric and smeared along his arm. His jaw had started to swell from the punch, bruises already forming over his damaged skin. It made her smile. Everyone would find out what happened, and people would see the swelling on Charon's jaw. She may have not been able to choke him out, but she still considered it a win on her part, as he was down in his knees. If Sheriff Simms did not show up when he did to break up the fight, he would be out cold on the tin floor. She was 80 percent sure of it, choosing to overlook the detail of Charon drawing first blood. They all talked big game about how dangerous he could be, there were rumors, she's heard stories. They all seemed a bit far-fetched. Reagan witnessed first-hand how quickly he moved, some of those stories had become in a way... more believable. She recalled that deadly look in his eyes. She wanted to know how far his patience could go before he snapped without her taking a swing at him. Especially if Erin liked the guy enough to let him stay in his shack.

Reagan titled her head, "You were fixing kill me, huh?"

The door opened three long hours later to the bunker and Harden walked down the steps. Reagan stood up to go lean on the cell door, looking down at the Sheriff's son. Reagan raised her scarred eyebrow in mild surprise to see him. Last time she saw the kid, he was just an ankle biter, now he was a young man, nearly as tall as Erin if he stood up straight. Reagan groaned, kids grow up fast. Maybe she could bribe him with candy as she did last time she got into trouble. Harden took the keys from his belt loop, dabbing away sweat from his round forehead with a cloth. Reagan smiled as Harden approached the two cells, excited by the anticipation to be let out. She had decided that Simms must have forgiven the little row. Instead Harden only unlocked Charon's cell door, holding it open for him to walk out of. Reagan gaped, her eye brows rise high. Harden didn't even look at her.

"Hey! Hey! Kid, what about me?" She cried out and pointed at Charon who already walked out of the bunker door, "you let him out but not me?"

Harden shut the cell door and shrugged his shoulders, "Sorry, dad said just Erin's friend."

"Hey! I'm Erin's friend too!"

"Dad didn't mean you."

"Don't leave me in here, brat!"

Reagan let out whine in complaint and Harden shrugged again. Reagan clutched at the cell doors, giving them a violent shake to make the door rattle in its hinged railing. Harden ignored her tantrum and pursed his lips just like his father did when he wanted to scold someone, but Harden turned away to go out the bunker steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i told you everyone fights. should've named everything fight club.  
> i hope the scenes didnt get too confusing! it will pass if they can figure each other out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Community Services. Mistakes in the past will blame you for bad drug deals.  
> Church services are expensive. A message from Erin. A proposal.

Harden walks bravely up to the basement jailhouse door. His father gave him an important task and he really didn't want to let his father down. Harden was to be a deputy when he got old enough. His father agreed to allow him to become a deputy on his upcoming sixteenth birthday instead of waiting until he was eighteen, but on the only condition if he could manage Reagan for the day of community service without her walking all over him. Reagan was a tough broad. Harden knew her when he was just a kid and she seemed alright, just vulgar. She never paid much attention to him except the times she tried to bribe him with candy to vandalize Deputy Welds. He's seen how much trouble she could be. If Harden could get her to see that he meant no nonsense, she would listen up. 

Harden crossed his arms as he stood in front of Reagan's cell, trying to look tough with a stern face. Reagan was sitting at the bench unladylike and amused by Harden's act. She had watched the teenager swagger down stairs. She raised an eyebrow when he pushed his fists under his biceps to make his muscles appear bigger than they were. She sat up, paying attention as he took the keys from his back pocket and unlocked the door. Reagan pushed herself off the bench and stepped out, looking down at Harden. He obviously had some things to say today. He puffed out his chest and crossed his arms again. This couldn't get any better.

"Listen up Miss Reagan, dad says you have to do community service today and I'm going to make sure you do." Harden gruffed, "and you're going to do what I say whether you like it or not!"

"Your daddy tell you to say that?"

Harden furrowed his eyebrows.

Reagan rolled her eyes. Harden was taller than the last time she saw him several years ago and he's smack dab in the middle of puberty. His voice dropped low and cracked. He's probably got an inflated sense of ego from having the sheriff as his father and she hasn't decided if it's good or not. Harden shifted his weight, trying to make himself look taller. Poor kid wasn't even that tall. Reagan smiled. She could easily bully him. She could punch him in the head, go into Simms' house and get all her weapons back. She knew she was stronger than Harden to the point it wouldn't be fair. She could shove him into the open cell and lock him up inside and he could stay there all day before his father would find him. Reagan stepped up to him, fists resting on her hips and looking down at Harden. The teenager frowned and backed away with his shoulders slumped. Reagan laughed at him.

"I'm being serious." He complained.

"Holy shit, Harden, I thought you were joking for a moment." She said out between her laughs, "fucking deputy Harden Simms."

"That's right, I'm going to be a deputy," Harden said, "and you're not going to fuck it up for me."

Reagan sighed, calming down from her laughing. She smiled at him and shook her head. "Hear you me, Harden, I got some advice."

"Um, alright, what is it?"

"Don't say he's your dad. You gotta be professional. He's Sheriff. And don't pretend to be some fucking big shot, because you haven't been hurt bad enough." Reagan dusted off Harden's shoulder, and pushed his arms down, "and don't cross your arms when you talking to someone."

"Why not? It's comfortable."

"It means you're scared. It's your subconscious telling you to protect yourself because you're not confident. It read it in a book once."

Harden nodded, "Professional."

"Good kid."

Harden waved his hand to her to follow him out. Reagan covered her eyes and shrank back from the morning sun that beamed her right in the pupils when Harden opened the cellar door. Reagan cursed under her breath, climbing out. She looked around, blinking her eyes to adjust to the light. The cellar didn't seem so bad of a place to be now. Today Megaton was busy today with traders. She never seen it so crowded before. There were tables and stands set up along the entrance and in the bottom crater. Merchants sold clothing, gear, junk and food. People she never seen before were gathered around the wares, talking amongst themselves. And the Atom preacher chanting above their commotions fruitlessly. 

Lucy at the Brass Lantern was working hard to gather up all her orders, men outside joked as they enjoyed the noodles she brought out. The smell of spilt beer wafting up into the stale wind mixed with the cooked food. Reagan stopped by a table selling a broken drill press. It wasn't too badly rusted, the hinges still worked when she pulled the lever down. She used to have one just like this back at home that she reconstructed into a leather punch to help her cut the time in half to adjust gear. Reagan wanted it. She didn't have a place to put it, or junk lying around to add to it. All her caps were hidden away too. Harden coughed in his fist, reminding her of her duty. Reagan took one last look before following after Harden. They climbed the steep walkway, squeezing by people on the crowded walkway from the saloon and through the train cart to the upper most building in Megaton, high above the bustling market below.

"The water plant?"

"Yup!"

Harden pushed open the door, startling old Walter from staring at a water gauge along the pipes covering the walls. Reagan put her hands on her hips and groaned. Pipes. The old man stood slumped from a bad back from his years hunched over piping and digging. He had a shuffle, barely lifting his boots from the tin floor. He still wore the same repair suit with the same rust stains that she first saw him in years ago. Somehow that annoyed her further. Harden beamed his bright smile, shutting the door behind them.

"Morning Harden!" Walter greeted loudly, "Say, is this about the valve? I hope so, because I'm getting nervous about it."

"Yes sir! Sheriff wanted me to bring Miss Reagan up to see what can be done. It's her community service duty."

Old Walter squinted his old eyes at the tall woman, grumbling to himself and scratching his grey hairs along his chin. Reagan didn’t smile. Harden tried to instill confidence in him by repeating what his father had told him of Reagan’s repairing capabilities despite Harden never witnessing them for himself. He made sure he didn’t mention that part. Walter was fickle and lacked trust in newcomers. Reagan was never around long enough to be a true citizen and her reputation was shaky here to the population of Megaton. It didn’t exclude old Walter. He may not ever leave the plant but word always gets around. The old man didn’t have much choice as no one was lining up outside the water plant to help with the most important job in the wastes! He nodded gravely and moved tools out of the way for them.

"That's good! I wish there were more help around. I can't do all of this myself and watch the gauges at the same damn time. I could barely get Leo to keep his damn eyes open long enough to learn something!"

"Yeah, yeah..." Reagan interrupted. "tell me old man, did the pipes rupture some place again?" 

"Rupture? I am surprised it hasn't yet!"

Walter limped to the work table, picking up a handmade blue print lying it out flat. Harden and Reagan peeked over the old man's shoulders to look at it. Reagan leaned in closer, touching the map of drawn water pipes. It was every water pipe in the city and where it connected and where it cycled through before returning to the plant to leave again. It was impressive, Reagan hardly thought about Megaton's water system. She didn't think the pipe system was this well designed. It was always available and rarely lowered to dangerous levels. Back at home they still gathered water from the purifier source.

Before, she didn't use the sink in the shack because of the radiation levels, relying on Wadsworth to give her purified water already bottled. Since the news of Project Purity removing a lot of the harmful levels and chemicals, the water system was being used more often and the ageing pipes were not meant to handle this much fluctuation in pressures. Walter was getting quite animated in his rant, saying he couldn't go into every home to regulate their water usage. She would hate to see the sewage system. She cringed, maybe she could get away with the pipes instead.

"Erin tried fixing the same valve a month ago. He didn't have much luck." Walter pointed out the water valve location on the blueprints.

"What was it?" Reagan asked.

"What?"

Reagan sighed, then asked louder, "What was the problem?"

"He told me, the valve wouldn't open at all. He didn't want to break it. There was also something about... it being stuck. That makes sense, all that hard water and minerals eating away at the metals."

“You get hard water out here? I thought the supply was from rainwater? If you distill it then what’s the deal?”

“We got to an aquafer. We can’t use rainwater here. I tried to talk to Lucas about digging a pipe to connect with the-”

“I don’t care about digging up pipelines. Where is this valve?

“What!”

Reagan sighed again. She scratched at buildup of dirt at the nape of her neck, running her fingers through her hair. She looked to Hardin, the kid was looking at the blueprint like it was incapable of being read, and it was a mess to look at. Walter rambled on about the valve was keeping a good flow, or something another, exhausting the only pipes they had open. People needed water and the pressure was backed up. Reagan didn't want to repair pipes. She hated pipes. Give her a generator or a terminal and she would gladly tinker with it. The old knotted finger pointed to a valve point near the public bathrooms.

Reagan left the bench to the next room where she knew the old man kept a supply of scrap metal and duct tape. She found a duffle bag, stuffing tools and clamps and dropped a few handfuls of scrap into it for good measure and lugged it out. She tried to open the locker, but it was locked. Walter heard her shake the locker door and turned over his shoulder. His eyes grew wide, glancing between her and Harden.

"What are you doing with my stuff?"

Reagan dropped the bag loudly and raised her scarred eyebrows, "What do you mean? I'm getting stuff to fix your damn valve with!"

Walter shook his head again, but Hardin aided to support her, "Mr. Walter, she's not going to run away with it."

"That scrap metal is for sale." He said, "I can't just give that shit away. It's all I have to use."

Reagan almost lost her temper. What was the point of Erin searching everywhere for scrap metal to drag back to Megaton to sell to this dense old man if the fucker never used any of it to begin with? Reagan's foul mood quickly transformed into a smile. It was fake and toothy, but for the sake of the moment, she could pretend. This old man was getting stupid in his age and sometimes a person must speak a different way to others. Hardin was impressed by her change of mood. He half expected her to start yelling at Walter.

"Sir, look, if I don't use this collection and take the time to find some on my own, the pipe will rupture and be unfixable."

Walter gaped, then clutched at his wiry beard. "Say, you're right."

Hardin stepped out of Walter's way. The old man turned the key to the lock and pulled down a heavy tool box from the locker shelf. Next, he dragged out a 48inch pipe wrench. Reagan took it from him before he could break his back try to pass it to her. She quickly marched out of the water plant with Hardin scrambling to keep up with her long strides. When he reached her at the bridge, he offered to carry the tool bag. He was trying to be a gentleman, Reagan was rough, but she was still a woman and his father was persistent about his son being kind to women. 

However, when Reagan let him carry the bag, he nearly tripped over it. A large pipe wrench longer than his leg fell out of the bag and bruised his knee. The bag was heavier than he anticipated. He hurried to play off the mistake by resorting the large wrenches in the bag. He picked up the straps with both hands and slung the bag over his shoulder with a grunt. He looked up and cleared his throat when he realized Reagan was watching him with a big amused smile on her face. She shook her head and contained down the ramps, this time at a slower pace for Hardin's sake.

Reagan found the pipe and valve easy enough. It was just below Nathan and Maya's home, sticking out of the hard clay with smaller water pipes leading off in other directions. Reagan knelt down on the platform above the pipe to stare at it in discontent. The red painted hand wheel of the valve seemed to stare back at her. From there she could see the dents in the side and the scrapes from tool work. If Erin had tried to repair this, she knew to expect a half assed job. She left the tool box on the platform, climbing through the railing. She inched along the edge of the rusted steel and tin until she reached the embankment. She dropped herself down under the pipe. There was enough room to crawl under. 

Her fingers traced along the edge of the bonnet connecting to the pipe. The seal was good. She assumed the problem with Erin’s attempt was that he couldn’t get the bonnet open to reach the stuck gate. She straddled the pipe, leaning to one side to examine more of the handiwork Erin left behind in his attempt to fix the valve. There were metal plates welded onto the sides to cover up where old rusted holes had been. The pipe was still leaking a steady thin spray of water out from the pipe and valve. Her calloused thumb brushed over the dents where wrench was used for leverage on the valve to try to pry it open. Reagan frowned. The corrosion was just too bad.

"What do you think?"

Reagan looked up when she heard Billy Creel's voice. She never had the chance to meet him personally. His one eye kept her from talking to him. It reminded her of her brother and how angry he had been when she told him and his Blackguards she wouldn't stay raiding with them anymore. She had been tired of it all. It reminded her of the fact she wasn't supposed to be in the Capitol. She also didn't anticipate on Erin not being home. It reminded her how she strayed off her path and kept getting nowhere. Nova said he was kind and honest enough. Reagan got the impression he was kind to cover-up for his past. Everyone all went down that road eventually, though some weren’t so successful. Some got chased off, Regulators caught up to them, or even their past lives hunted them down to put a bullet in their heads. Billy was leaning against the railing of the platform next to Hardin, both watching her examine the damage. Reagan sighed, shook her head and pushed the hair from her eyes.

"I think this is some bull shit."

"Anything more helpful?" Hardin asked over Billy's laughter.

Reagan was certain she could get away with only servicing the gate valve but nothing was that simple. The whole valve was needing to be replaced. Reagan was angry. She sent Billy off, since he wanted to be so helpful, after a replacement from Walter. Billy told her he could get Walter to shut off the water to this pipe remotely, though it wouldn’t come easy either. The other pipes would probably burst if they don’t work fast enough. Reagan had climbed back onto the walk way to sit next to Harden, digging through her tools until she found all she would need. She dumped out the scrap bag in a pile, tossing a hand torch, the pipe wrench and such. 

Reagan climbed back down to the pipe, sitting astride for balance. Harden strained to lower the straps of the tool bag to her, praying he didn’t drop the wrench again. If it would slip out of the bag it would roll down into the water at the bottom of the crater and he would be just the person to retrieve it and climb back up with the heavy load. Reagan dropped the bag to her left on the dry clay embankment and heft the wrench into her lap. Billy came back to announce his quest had been fulfilled and everyone was welcomed. Harden climbed down after Reagan. Curiosity was getting the better of him. He sat on the dry clay next to her, crossing his legs. Reagan shoved the wrench into his lap.

“Pass me the torch.”

“Why do you need the torch? Are you going to weld something?” Harden asked, passing the cylinder.

“Psh, naw. That’s not what that damn thing is for. Look here,” she cranked the torch and heated along the bonnet, “It’ll break its hold and be easier to unscrew.”

“Oh. How’d you know that?”

“One time our water tanks quit on us. We took it apart for salvage for the new one. I’ve never done it myself, but I watched my brother do it. If that idiot can do it, how hard can it be?”

Reagan thought she held the torch long enough, taking the wrench back. Reagan pulled at the leverage, grunting loudly. It wasn’t going to give, and she had kept the torch on the bonnet for longer than she really needed to. Harden looked concerned. She sat up, kicking at the grip, still no movement. Reagan cursed under her breath, dusting off her hands. She glared at the wrench and the bonnet. Billy lit a cigarette and offered her one, she declined. Reagan turned away from the wrench and took the replacement valve from Billy and handed the parts to Harden. Since the kid wasn’t doing anything that useful. The hot sun beamed down on her, Harden was shadowed in his little sitting area by the walkway. At least there was a good breeze through here. 

“Well. Looks like we see where Erin had problems.” Harden observed.

“What are you going to do if I don’t fix this pipe, Harden?” Reagan asked, sitting back down on the pipe, “Huh? Drag me back to that hole?”

Haden’s eyes got big. He didn’t expect that. What would he do?

“Huh, Harden? I don’t have to do what you say.”

“Well… I, um.” Harden sits up straight, giving her a stern look, “I guess I will!”

“Are you sure you can? I’m much taller than you, heavier and stronger. How are you going to make me do anything?”

“You already said you would repair the pipes Miss Reagan!” Harden said quickly. “I may be smaller than you, but if we got into a fight, I’ll make you remember me!”

“How’s that?”

“I’ll fight dirty.”

Reagan smiled warmly. “Good deal. That’s a good tactic if you get in a fight with anyone bigger than you.”

“Dad- I mean, Sheriff Simms says it’s not all about fighting. But about smarts. He said if it comes to fighting then you didn’t do your best job.”

Reagan nodded, “I reckon so.”

“Hey, let me try.”

Above them Billy pulled off his jacket and laid it over the edge of the railing. Billy pulled up his pants and climbed over the railing. He followed her path and dropped next to Reagan. She stepped back to sit next to Harden to watch him struggle. The veins in his neck stuck out and his face turned red. He failed as well, his boots sliding in the wet clay. Billy huffed and shook his head. Next, Harden decided it was his turn to try. He pushed so hard that he nearly fell over the pipe. Luckily, Billy had a hold of him before he went head over heels into the clay and down the crater. Together, Reagan and Billy pried the wrench, both nearly tripping over each other’s feet. Al their shoes were covered in thick clay, Billy’s pants were stained and he kept trying to dust off. Reagan sneered, rolling up her sleeves. She was stronger than that little sheltered brat! She couldn’t let the valve bonnet best her. She stood over the valve and planted her feet. She grasped the wrench and this time from another direction, pushed with all her might. She thought she felt it give just a smidge. It wasn’t enough for her pride. Then, she had an idea.

Harden waved to the railing above them, “Hey, Charon, you want to try next?”

Reagan and Billy looked up from the towering shadow that came over the pipe. Charon had a wicker basket under his arm with fresh carrots and pea pods poking through the dried holes in the basket resting on the edge of the railing He peered over to examine how far they have gotten. The clay ground beneath the pipes were torn up from their sliding feet, and caked them. Harden and Reagan had clay smeared over their cheeks, some were stuck in her hair. He had heard of the repairs in progress from Sheriff Simms, but he didn’t know that Reagan had been the one attempting it. Erin had difficulties with the same valve prior, with the same tools, but on a day with higher temperatures. Erin had asked him to help also, which, like now, he declines by not answering them.

“He probably couldn’t get it anyways.” Billy said, hands on his hips and a smile.

“No way, I think he could.” Harden spoke up over Reagan’s snickering.

“If you two burly men can’t, what makes you think that piece up there can?” Reagan pushed up her sleeves to her elbows. “Get outta the way, boys.” 

With Billy’s help, Harden was pulled back to the walk way to stand near the scrap metal. They all watched her unbuckle her leather belt, kicking off the pipe wrench and looping the belt tight around the bonnet. They weren’t so sure why she did this, or what difference it would make. She replaces the wrench, it’s teeth on the leather belt and screwed on as tight as possible. She took in a breath and pushed. The bonnet made a loud squeak in protest as it twisted loose. Harden cried out in surprise and Billy was impressed. Reagan hammered the wrench open further with her hammer until the bonnet came loose. She kicked the metal to the side and put her hands on her hips. He beamed up to her spectators, but pointed at Charon this time.

“Hey there big guy!” She rolled her left sleeve higher and then flexed her bicep. “I'll bet you never seen muscles this big on a lady like me!”

Charon scowled and marched off, ignoring her whistle and further calls out to him and Billy’s laughter. Reagan passed Harden the wrench, he placed it back into the bag. Reagan straddled the pipe again and reached her hand into the open valve. The stem should just slide right out now. It wouldn’t lift. Reagan frowned, looking in. The buildup of minerals around the stem prevented it from moving. The gate was jammed after all. 

“Do you need this?” Harden asked, holding up the replacement parts.

“Actually… no. Come see here.”

Harden dropped the parts into the bag and climbed back over the railing to his seat next to her. Reagan handed him the wheel, showing him how the part turns and how it should just unscrew the gate upwards and allow water to flow, but because of the buildup, it wasn’t able to move and the gate had come jammed shut. She then handed him a wire brush and told him to start scrubbing off the buildup on the wheel stem. Harden frowned but did so anyways. Reagan reached back into the valve body and with her channel locks, pulled. The pipe made a hiss. Reagan lifted an eyebrow at Harden, then smiled. 

“What’s that sound?”

“Success.” Reagan answered. She looked up at Billy, squinting her eyes due to the sun light, “All these pipes have clean water, right?”

“Yeah, should.”

“Good. Otherwise this would really suck.”

“Why?” Harden asked.

Reagan pulled with a grunt and water shot out of the valve body. Harden exclaimed in shock of the cold water that gushed over him and Reagan. The pipes groaned as the pressure from the water was released. Billy laughed again. The water poured down the hill towards the atom crater, washing the clay into the preacher’s puddle, staining it. The preacher complained loudly, though bystanders didn’t acknowledge him. The water made the ground soggy, caking on the people’s shoes below. Reagan carried the gate with her to the railing and Harden rushed to keep up with her, slipping on the clay only once this time. 

“Why is there water coming out? I thought Walter shut off the water?”

“That’s from the back up. It’ll drain out. It won’t hurt nothing.” Reagan explained.

Harden handed her the wheel and the wire brush. She commended him on a job well done and dug out her can of oil. The serviced the stem and the gate. All these valves would need to be serviced to keep from damaging and jamming up like this one had. And the condition this one had been in was not good. Reagan hated to think how poor of a condition the other ones must be in. Maybe Sheriff Simms was counting on her to get into trouble again so that he could put her to repairs on all the others. No wonder Leo resorted to chems, pipes were boring as hell. Especially if the water plant just waited until another break to do anything about it. Reagan replaced the parts with the old, everything just needed to be lubricated. She closed it tight, but not too tight so some noodle-armed man could come by behind her to do repairs in the future.

Billy parted with them with a handshake and a slap on Harden’s back. The trip back upstairs with the tool bag was still heavy for Harden but the success of the day really made the work worth it...

 ---

The metal around them creaked in the cooling temperature, the sickly decorative prewar Christmas lights flickered above Charon on the Saloon railing leading up to the room's above. The bulb above Gob was about to die out, the ghoul's thin finger tapped on the bulb glass, each tap caused it to brighten further then dim, flashing different levels of brightness until Gob gave up, letting it swing slowly from his hand. Nova gave him a reassuring smile, gesturing him to come sit with her and Charon at the bar. The Saloon was quiet for the night, some of the normal haunts had either went away for the night or too far in their drinks to notice their surroundings. It had been a busy day at the saloon and they raked in more caps than they have earned before with the trade day crowd. Gob relaxed next to Nova at the bar stool with a sigh, happy to get off his aching feet. Nova gave Gob a quick kiss on his head and left to go around the bar to fetch Gob a beer and pour Charon more to drink.

"Heard from Erin?" Gob asked Charon.

Through gritted teeth Charon answered with a no, taking another shot, sliding the shot glass to Nova. The amber liquid poured into the little glass, she slid the whole bottle his way as she brought around Gob's beer. She sat closely to him, looking over Gob's shoulder to frown at the news. Everyone in town had begun to murmur their greatest fear, Erin must be dead by now. This was unlike Erin to be gone for so long even without either Dogmeat or Charon there to accompany him. But Gob and Nova didn't want to believe it, but Charon could see that they all thought the same as the rest of the Megaton community. Gob was notorious for wearing his emotions on his sleeves and was becoming exceptionally mopey as if late. Everyday people died out in the wasteland and were never seen again, there were no exceptions to who you were or what you meant to people.

"So, uh, Charon whatcha gunna..." Gob began to ask, clearing his throat to look away when Charon gave him a venomous glare, daring him to finish that question.

Nova let out a forlorn sigh, "Hon, this is important. You know that we are here for you."

Charon poured himself another shot, not responding, doing a poor impression of being interest with a song from the radio next to him. Charon grinded his teeth, he had been chasing away the thought every time it slipped into his mind, but Nova couldn't be any more right. This was a serious issue and it needed to be dealt with immediately if not sooner than later, but Charon already knew Erin must be dead cold somewhere in the vastness of the Wasteland. He probably would not be able to find a corpse if there would be one left to find to retrieve his contract. The realization of having to find a new employer made his skin crawl with anger and worse if someone had found it before he did. Gob and Nova were good people, but Charon didn't want to work in a bar kicking out drunks and breaking up fights as a bouncer again. And if word got around, who knows what would happen? But Charon had no choice, no preference would allow him a choice of employment and he knew this all too well. Charon threw back another shot and shook his head.

"He'll be back." Charon grumbled.

Nova nodded, taking Gob's empty bottle around the counter to place it in the crate for recycling, finding another to bring around Gob. She twisted off the cap with her shirt tail, dropping the cap into the jar. The Saloon door opened, Gob cried out that they were closed and for the customer to go home. Charon looked over his shoulder in habit but turning away to scowl at his shot glass when he saw the top of Reagan's head as she shuffled in, dusting off sand from her ragged baggy over shirt. Nova called out to her happily, waving to her. Reagan's face was cleaned up, but both of her eyes had darker circles, her cheek was healing into an ugly yellow bruise that Nova kissed carefully when Reagan pranced into the woman's arms. Reagan's rags were stained with old blood, but it never seemed to bother her at all. 

"You always track so much dirt in." Gob complained.

"Where? You can hardly see in here. None will notice!"

"Don't remind me." He said so somber, looking to the bulb above the bar.

"I'll find you a good bulb."

"Will it be stolen from the public bathrooms again?" Nova asked with a sly smile.

Reagan put a hand to her chest with a dramatic gasp, "Nova!"

"At this point I honestly don't think it would matter," Gob added, "It's really bothering me."

Reagan already had enough to drink before arriving to the Saloon to have her cheeks blushed and her eye lids heavy. Nova giggled when Reagan playfully caressed at the woman's arm, whispering something in her ear. Gob leaned back on the stool to watch them, drinking his beer very occupied by their giggling. Reagan reached around Nova's hip, resting on Gob's wrist for a moment before taking the beer bottle from him, mumbling a slurry thank you. Reagan put her arm around Nova's shoulder, her eyes were looking around to the stairs then slid back to the door by the register. Despite drinking more, she had seemed to sobered up and lifted her chin.

"Speaking of bad... where's that fat bastard? I haven't seen him in a while."

"Erin kind of, uh, killed him." Gob told her.

Reagan lifted her scarred eyebrows high and looked to Nova in surprise then to Gob. Charon remembered that day well, it had been a few months after he left Underworld with a new contract holder. He could not recall seeing Erin so angry as finding out Moriarty’s secrets on his terminal. Erin’s anger had stewed in him for a whole day, ranting to Charon about what he discovered then was amazed at how unsurprised Charon had been to hear the news. Things like that was normal, not meaning it was a good thing, but it was so common. The vaultie had gone so far to attack Moriarty in the middle of the day. 

Erin had marched right up to him, an uppercut and pistol whip later, Erin had slammed Moriarty down on top of the bar top, knocking everyone's drinks to the ground. It took bystanders by surprise, all watching Erin choking Moriarty. At least some had enough brains to quickly leave before Charon had locked the door to keep people from coming in to stop Erin, like Lucas Simms. Erin and Charon spent a few nights in a cell as punishment. Nova brought in the evidence and Erin was released. That was over five years ago. It held no more novelty and it wasn't talked about. Reagan laughed a little at the news, a light sound. And lifted her bottle high in a toast.

"In that case that makes you the owner of this Saloon! Congratulations."

Gob smiled modestly, "Someone had to. This place would fall apart. I couldn't have done it without Nova."

"Oh, Gob, you flirt." She giggled.

"I'm glad that y'all stayed. You two are obviously happier than I've ever seen. That slimy bastard had it coming. I'm a bit upset I didn't get there first, but shit... I'm proud."

Charon had been keeping to himself, contemplating on how he should try to slip away. He had been staying between Gob and Reagan and he had hoped she would have not noticed him, but he should've known better. Reagan's gaze found him. Charon glared past Gob to the woman. Gob said something that caused Nova to laugh but Reagan and Charon missed it, both refusing to break eye contact with one another. She slid closely around Gob, forcing the ghoul out of his own seat. Charon didn't move an inch but felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny, he didn't like to be stared at by anyone. Not that Reagan could notice but she did crack a toothy smile. Nova and Gob had stopped their joking when Reagan moved closer to him. Their behavior made it aware to him that Reagan was still pretty unpredictable as any raider or maybe they were more nervous on how he would behave. Nova and Gob were treating the two of them like pit dogs, moving out of the way in case they got stuck in between if something should happen.

"You and I got off on the wrong foot." Reagan stated.

Charon narrowed his eyes in suspicion. He did not like how slow she was moving, passing Gob back his empty beer bottle. When she had spoken to him, she sounded so causal, but her eyes kept glancing to his hands then to his hip for a weapon as she searched for a vulnerability. Tension was in the air, that much was clear. Reagan reached over the counter and grasped the whiskey bottle in front of him cautiously. Charon was sure she was attempting to take it away until she poured more alcohol into his empty shot glass. She spilled a few drops but set it back where she got it from. She finally set her amber eyes back on his.

"Yeah? Charon?" She asked, "wrong foot, you'd say?"

Reagan offered to shake hands. Charon glanced down at her outstretched dusty hand, it was calloused and had smooth round mark from a freshly peeled blister on her thumb. Charon didn't even try to consider. He scoffed.

"You already know the answer."

"You do not trust me? Not even a chance?"

"Why would I take that chance? You are a raider.” He said bluntly.

Did she think he was a complete idiot? Reagan smirked, shaking her head, pulling back her hand to take up the whiskey bottle. The walking on egg shells trick was over. She was no longer cautious. Charon didn't stop her, technically it wasn't his whiskey to fight over as he didn't pay for the whole bottle. Reagan took a swig and grimaced but didn't give it back.

"Yeah, once I was. But what's the difference between a raider and a scavenger, huh?" She asked gesturing to a man asleep in his drink near the door, then gestured to Charon, "What's the difference between a raider and a merc?" 

"Plenty." Charon answered, "for one, I am neither of those things."

Reagan huffed, shaking her head, "It's going to be very awkward when Erin gets back and you're not his top priority."

Reagan flinched, nearly tipping over the whiskey bottle when the doors of the Saloon was shoved open. Gob had already made last call, signs off and people should not be coming in so late. Gob was about to scold whoever it was slamming open doors, but words died short and he closed his mouth. Andy Stahl was seething at the door. He scanned the nearly empty bar and found Reagan. He had a .32 in his shaking grasp and when his angry eyes landed on Reagan, Andy stormed right up to her. Gob put himself in front of Nova and the two stepped back, to give them even more space. They didn't know if Andy was a good shot and clearly his emotions were clouding his better judgement. It could certainly impede his aim.

"You bitch!" Andy stopped just out if arm’s length of her. His voice wavered between a growl and sob.

Reagan recovered from the outburst, collecting up a cool demeanor despite a pistol waving around at her face. She leaned back on the counter to look at him, clearly, she was not afraid of Andy and whatever trouble he brought with him. It confirmed Charon's opinion of her being a dumbass. Reagan let Andy know she wasn't bothered by him or his pistol by drinking the last of the whiskey. Charon turned back to his own shot glass, thankful of the lack of attention on him. Nova gave him a scolding look, but this had nothing to do with him. Reagan was a basket case full of trouble. First Jericho, himself and now the locals? He wondered who would be next to start fighting with her. Reagan smiled sweetly at Andy, as sweetly as she could with chipped teeth and a swollen lip. That didn't seem to work.

"You've been giving my brother jet, haven't you!" Andy accused jabbing his pistol at her.

Reagan furrowed her brows. Her smile left her face and she looked confused, "I don't do that kind of work anymore."

"Bullshit!" He yelled in her face.

"I ain’t a lair, Andy!" She snapped, “Go back and ask him who!”

"We can’t! We took him to Church and he said Leo had overdosed! Damn raider scum are all the same, nothing good ever happens!"

It took Charon a moment to recall who Leo was, he had forgotten his name after Erin went to investigate why Megaton's water supply was starting to decline. When Charon told Erin that Leo was probably too high to do his job, Erin disagreed, _"Leo isn't on drugs, there's no way with his job."_ After discovering Leo's stash while searching for pipe grids, Erin apologized for his mistake to Charon and then confronted Leo about the massive responsibility it was to provide maintenance to the pipes, and drug addiction had no room here. Saving the water supply and Leo's job, Erin helped him afford Doc Church's medication to help him through withdrawals and overcoming his addiction. Leo promised to never go back to chems. Apparently, all of Erin's good charity went to shit if Leo was using again. Chem junkies always started using chems again.

"Andy, Reagan isn't lying to you." Gob spoke up.

"Shut up! She's probably supplying all of you chems too."

"Andy, go be with Leo," Nova suggested, to prevent Gob from yelling at Andy. Her voice was soft like velvet to sooth him as the clear voice of reason, "he needs his family to support him right now."

Reagan swung her left fist quickly, hitting Andy's chin. The punch must have caused Andy to tense, the trigger was pulled, and a shot rang out, bursting the whiskey bottle next to Charon. Andy fell hard onto his back onto the saloon floor. The .32 rolled out of his grasp and slid across the floor. Charon had turned around the moment the bullet shot past him, knife drawn and ready by reflex. Charon put away the knife, glancing to Nova. The bullet had also narrowly missed her. Reagan cursed at unconscious Andy sprawled out on the floor. She gave a swift kick to the man's ribs for good measure. Nova raced around the bar counter to grab Reagan, pulling her back so she couldn't stomp Andy with her cleats. 

Gob walked around also, more rattled than Nova had been. He knelt down to check to see if Andy was even still alive after that fall. Reagan must have gotten over the offense and calmed down. She leaned over Gob's shoulder, she dismissively waved her hand at Andy and muttered something about him being completely okay. Reagan's eyes landed on the pistol on the floor, taking a step for it. Charon stood up from the stool, giving her a glare. She stopped, staying near Gob and watched Charon walk over and pick up the pistol. It was a shoddy gun, bought cheap, it was a miracle the barrel didn't shatter into pieces after the shot. Charon took it back to the bar, he didn't want Reagan's hands to find it.

Next person to arrive in a hurry was Sheriff Simms, sweat was rolling down his forehead and ready to face whatever he would find in the saloon. He looked down at Andy sprawled out in the floor. His dark eyes scanning over to Gob giving Andy a shake and Reagan the guilty, to Nova lighting a cigarette and then Charon at the bar unloading the pistol. Simms lowered his defense and wiped away the sweat, closing the door behind him. Andy was starting to wake up and Simms took Gob's place. Gob stormed around the bar counter where he glared at Andy. From the distance, Gob told Simms what had occurred, defending Reagan, who had been in the right. After all, Andy had marched in with a gun on her. Simms fanned Andy with his hat, helping him sit up. Reagan took a few steps back, crossing her arms. Andy blinked his eyes, unable to stand up just yet.

"Andy Stahl, you're barred for life." Gob announced.

Sheriff Simms helped Andy stand. The man looked embarrassed, and let the sheriff lead him out of the saloon. Gob was the first to let out a loud sigh of relief, reaching under the counter to find a bottle to sip from. Reagan returned to the stools next to Nova. Reagan padded Nova's hand with a smile.

"I can't believe this." Gob said, cringing at the taste, "that could have been extremely horrible."

"Nah," Reagan answered, letting out a little laugh, "he went out like a light. Nothing to worry about."

"This may not be a big deal to you, Reagan but we don't get trouble like that in my bar!" 

"If it got any worse, Charon could have stomped him out like a cigarette."

"No, he wouldn't have!" Gob snapped, turning a finger at Charon. Reagan took the bottle from Gob, "Charon sat on his ass and let a pistol get waved around at us!"

Reagan laughed again, "I bet if you paid him right, Andy wouldn't be anyone's problem ever again."

Charon was used to outbursts in bars and Reagan knocked Andy out cold before it could get any worse. Charon hadn't been the only one to noticed that Andy wasn't likely to listen to the voice of reason. If he'd been involved, he would have done the same thing Reagan had. He could see her in his peripheral drawing a bit closer to his side at the bar, watching him pocket the bullets he took from the pistol. She sipped from the brown bottle, her eyes squinting from how hard she smiled. It was a kind of smile that was too mischievous.

"Right, Charon? Want to talk business?"

Nova glanced at Gob, her eyes betraying worry. Reagan raised an eye brow. Charon decided it was time for him to leave the saloon as well. He picked up the shot glass, throwing back the whiskey before leaving the saloon in a heavy march. Reagan turned and beamed at Gob when the door shut behind Charon. She noticed how tense they looked, exchanging glances that were filled with some worried hidden meaning. Gob shook his head, picking up the broken glass and dropping it into a trash bin near his feet, soaking up the spill with the cloth. Nova sat down with a sigh, rubbing her tired eyes. Reagan pointed to the over turned shot glass.

"Did you see that?" Reagan called out.

"I think Andy was gunna shoot you for real."

"No, we are past that, look at the glass."

Gob looked past her to the shot glass then scowled, "I hate it when Charon does that. I told him the whiskey will stain the counter tops."

Reagan rolled her eyes when Gob scrubbed the ring marks of spilled alcohol.

"But did you see him drink it?"

"Yeah, so? That’s what people come here for. What about it?"

"That means he doesn't hate me too bad if he drank the shot I poured, right?"

Gob sighed, tired of repeating himself. 

"Remember what I said, Reagan? Don't mess with him. Please?" Gob asked barely about to beg her, gesturing to the door, "He's going through a rough time right now. If... um, when Erin gets back, I'm sure Charon will be calmer. It was pure luck he didn't have the chance to kill you yesterday or decide to finish the job today."

"I'm going to go see what happened to Leo. He was doing so well." Nova mentioned, putting her hair back, "Do you want to come with me, Reagan?"

"Sure, but I don't think I'm invited. Just because I sold mentats once to some settler outside doesn't mean I'm in that business." 

"After Leo gets back on his feet, I'm sure they won't recall the incident. And if you show your face and mean well, they will prove them wrong for accusing you."

Reagan groaned in complaint, then nodded. She followed Nova around the bar. Nova gave Gob a kiss on his cheek before the two women went into the back room to go out the back door. The moon above lit their pathway brightly, the low hum of the gust blowing through the old rusted holes in the walls around Megaton and small sounds of crickets filled the warm air. Reagan walked closely to Nova, tangling her arm with hers as they traveled around the outskirts of the buildings. They reached the water pipes, carefully walking down the steep crater pathway down to the clinic.

The Brahmin outside of the clinic raised one of its heads to them, then turned away to go back to its sleep. Jenny was sitting outside on the porch, crying with her head in her hands. Billy Creel was outside with her to soothe her. Reagan looked around, her eyes stealing a glance up the railing to Erin's shack two stories up from them. Jenny let out a little sobbing wail when Nova offered her a supportive embrace, causing Reagan to look back to them. Reagan just stood awkwardly next to the sleeping Brahmin, feeling very out of place. Simms and Doc Church stepped outside the clinic in mid conversation. Church scowled at the crowd gathered, turning back into his clinic to shut the door. Everyone heard the sounds of the locks. Simms put his hands on his hips and sighed, shaking his head at Reagan.

"Before I go upstairs… anyone wanna give me their side to the story of what apparently occurred?"

Nova turned her attention back to Jenny, patting her shoulder. Billy raised his hands and shrugging his shoulders. Reagan huffed, waving her hand to the sheriff. Simms nodded, stepping off the porch to follow Reagan. The two marched up the crater stairs slowly, Reagan was careful not to roll her ankle on the uneven wooden stairs built into the side of the dirt mound. Sheriff matched her pace to be polite.

Reagan tilted her head back to the clinic, "Andy came in with a gun at us. Said I sold some bad chem to his brother. Gob told him to get out, I told Andy I don't do that business no more and Nova tried to calm him down, you know. So, I swung at him, I guess he flinched or something, so he got a shot off. It almost hit Charon or Nova. That's when you came in."

Simms nodded, "Andy confessed to it. He didn't even know the gun was taken away until he got to the clinic. Does Charon still have the pistol?"

"Maybe? Hey, you know I don't sell chems anymore. I stopped all that years ago."

"I know this." Simms said, "but you did sell once. That was enough for Andy to come find you."

"Look, just because he was distressed or whatever, doesn't mean he had the right to wave a gun at me."

"He's got a fine he has to pay for that."

"Wait, don't give them no fine to pay, Simms. They can't afford it and pay Church's bill." Reagan said, stopping at the top of the crater, "I'm not offended by it. He got enough."

"Alright, but I'm left to wonder if you're going to confront him." Simms stopped next to her, his hands on his belt, "you can be troublesome."

Reagan shrugged, looking at the moon, "I reckon I ain’t. Nova wanted to see if Leo was okay."

"Do you have any idea where Andy could've gotten the chems?" He asked.

"No." Reagan answered, looking back to the sheriff, "I mean, don't that one caravan sell chems? Maybe he got it from the caravans because I doubt that he's smart enough to make jet on his own."

Simms nodded gravely, rubbing his bushy beard with the palm of his hand, "I appreciate it. Now I suggest you go bunker up and stay out of trouble. Night, Reagan."

"Vale, Simms."

After Simms turned to go back into his shack, Reagan turned on her heels to carefully walk back down the steps to where Jenny and Nova sat, using the pipe as a balance. She always had bad luck walking down the crater steps without tripping over her own feet and rolling down the hill. Nova passed Jenny a cloth to dry her eyes with when Andy finally came out of the clinic. He looked ashamed to see Reagan and Nova comforting his sister. He passed them without a second glance as he went back to the Brass Lantern. Reagan exchanged a look with Nova. 

"I'm sorry about Andy you guys," Jenny said between a sob, "you guys know he wouldn't hurt a fly."

Jenny blew her nose loudly, handing the cloth back to Nova.

"Keep it, honey. Make sure Leo drinks plenty of water." Nova told her, "Are you going to stay at the clinic all night?"

Jenny shook her head, "Billy was going to help me lock up the Lantern tonight."

"Doc said Andy has a concussion and told him to go home." Billy said, "none of us knew he was coming after you. Sorry, Reagan."

Reagan shrugged, for once not talking back. She didn't feel like contributing, as her mind was starting to wander. Nova moved the hair out of Jenny's face as she let out another sob. Billy knelt down to place his hand on her back, hoping to soothe her. Reagan bit at her lip, stretched her back and looking up to Erin's shack upstairs. The balcony was empty. Nova grabbed her sleeve.

"Where are you going?"

Reagan didn't have time to think of an excuse, looking back to Nova dumbly. Nova frowned. Her look was pleading as she shook her head. Reagan patted her little hand, as reassuring someone could be while being that distracted.

"Don't do it."

"I'm just going to have a word with him."

"Have you not been listening to us at all?"

"Just a word, Nova! Then I'll leave." Reagan called over her shoulder, climbing back up the stairs. “I gotta leave anyways.”

Nova sighed loudly, "She wouldn't know danger if it bit her on the ass."

 ---

Charon marched down stairs, placing a fresh cigarette between his lips. Dogmeat is yapping at the door and looking back to Charon expectantly. Charon reached the coat rack near the door, digging through his jacket pocket for his matchbook. He unlocks the door, opening it for Dogmeat to rush out. Outside was warm but cooler than the inside of the stuffy shack. The fans had finally died, they were the only things that made the shack bearable to be inside for so long. Charon didn't know how to fix them. He did try until he got frustrated and broke one of them, so it kept getting hotter and hotter inside forcing him to take more breaks outside on the balcony for fresh air, using the excuse to smoke while he was out to give himself something to do. Last time he smoked this much was when he worked without breaks in the 9th Circle. The thought of the heat of the afternoon cooking him inside the shack was enough to go take refuge at Gob's Saloon until night fall, his presence had cleared out a lot of the residences. He could rest contently, not worried about looking over his shoulder or some unruly drunk to decide to start a scene. Then, on time Reagan had brought in trouble and he almost got shot.

Charon struck the match across the rusted railing, lighting his cigarette. He inhaled deeply and blew out the smoke. He gave a tired glare past the glow to the shape sitting across the catwalk on the patio chair under than late moonlight. Charon leaned back in the balcony railing. He was beginning to wonder when the trouble would return. Reagan stood up from the patio set and walked over to the balcony to stand a good length away from him. She drank from her beer bottle, tossing it over her shoulder to shatter over the nuke in the center. Charon kept an eye on her, her presence wasn’t intense and had her hands where he could see them.

"Can we have that talk now?"

"No." He blew smoke in her direction.

Charon could just make out her disappointment through the darkness. He turned his back on her to go back inside the shack. He didn't want to have a repeat of the other day, there was no way he'd let Simms lock him up again. The sheriff already understood that mistake. Not for a second time. The best course of action was to just go back inside and avoid her. When opening the door, Dogmeat rushed inside and nearly knocked him over. Reagan used that to her advantage and pushed passed him back inside the shack. Charon bit through the cigarette filter, spitting out it out. Reagan already began to open the locker by the door, knocking over one of the broken lamps to the floor as she rummaged through Erin's belongings.

"Go find my caps, Dogmeat!" She said in a squeaky voice to the mutt.

Dogmeat yapped playfully, jumping around her legs. Charon grabbed Reagan by the forearm, she jerked her arm free from his grasp and gave him a firm shove away from her.

"Let go of me!"

"Get out!" He growled.

"Not until I get what I've come for. Don't touch me again, or I'll cut you." She turned back to Dogmeat, "go find my caps, baby! Mama needs her caps!"

Great. Not only did Erin fall into the wrong crowd but owed caps. This was unusual for Erin, it looks like Erin's past was back to bite him in the ass. Charon was defensive, he knew how violent it can get when debt collectors came around, as he was the one in the past breaking bones and taking lives over a few caps borrowed from Azurakal. Charon steps over Dogmeat as Reagan began her climb back up the stairwell and cursing loudly about the mess despite being the one who was trashing the place. Charon reached for the back of her shirt and she pulls free, causing her to stumble on the stairs. Charon acted quickly. When he shoved her against the wall, he could smell the alcohol on her breath. 

Dogmeat starts to bark loudly from the bottom of the stairs. Reagan reacted as fast as her drunken mind could allow, and Charon felt the sting of a blade slicing across his forearm. He held of her neck tightly, watching her eyes widen and her face redden from the pressure. He had warned her of this happening if she invited herself in. She slices at his forearm again, and he ignores the bite to tighten his grip. From the corner of his eye, he caught Wadsworth hovering to the top of the stairs. Charon looked to the robot in confusion, then looked back to glare at Reagan. She was scrambling to loosen his iron grip, but Wadsworth was starting to annoy him.

"Madam shall I remind you of the message now?" Wadsworth asked, oblivious to Reagan's slow death, "You requested that I must wait. The recording is rather tedious to keep in my memory unit..."

"Yes! Wadsworth!" She chokes out, raising the shiv to slice at Charon's face.

Charon manages to finally grab her wrist with his left, slamming her knuckles against the tin walls until she gives in to the pain and lets the weapon go. The metal shiv clatters over his boots and then rolls down the stairs. Shivs must be a dime a dozen to make, Charon keeps finding them everywhere. Reagan was sobering up, her teeth bared and eyes bloodshot. She kicked out, her metal cleats at the bottom of her shoes sliced his jeans, he pressed his knee into her thigh to keep her still. He wasn't going to fall for that trick again. 

Wadsworth's engine whirled as he came a bit closer. Charon wanted to elbow the robot away, it kept distracting him from killing the trespasser. Reagan saw her chance and swung her fist, clocking him right in the jaw. It wasn't as powerful as the last one he felt but still it was enough for stars to flash in his sight. Charon nearly lost his grip on Reagan when he heard the startling clarity of Erin's voice. It was so light-heartedly cheerful as ever and sounded like he was in the shack with them. Charon looked down stairs then realized it was coming from the recording Wadsworth played through the speakers.

_"Hello Reagan! I've made this message in case I'm still gone. I will give you the caps I owe, all 35 of them you cheater, hahah! There was no behemoth in the waste dump, but two! Ugh, I'll meet you in Megaton, you'll have to make it up to me with a drink. That is if Charon hasn't killed you by then, I don't know if I remember letting him know you'll be there? I mean, I doubt you could get in. Oops, hahaaa.."_

Charon stared upstairs at Wadsworth in shock. Offended that Erin left Reagan a recording but not one for him. Reagan's bloodshot eyes also looked to Wadsworth, under his palm he could feel the rumbling of her throat as she tried to laugh.

_"...then you should probably stay with Nova until I get back. Don't worry about him, he's a really great friend! Oh, I sort of have plans for a picnic! I found some weird plants that will give a crazy trip! Keep an ear open for the pip! Love, your darling mole-man..."_

Charon looks away from Wadsworth to the woman, stunned. She's half way into unconsciousness, her eyes starting to roll back but she's fighting it. So, in truth, Erin was expecting Reagan after all and not some lie Reagan had spat out in excuse to rob them blind. Very well, he had been in the wrong, but he wasn't going to take orders from her. Charon releases his hold on her neck. Reagan gasps loudly for air, nearly toppling down stairs and trying to soothe her bruised neck. She glares up at him with a classic "I told you so" just about to leave her lips and he wasn't going to stick around to hear it. Dogmeat whines in confusion downstairs. 

Charon shoved past Wadsworth to go upstairs, ignoring the robot's objection. Charon twisted his arm around to get a good look at the wound on his forearm, blood dripping a trail on the tin floor leading to the infirmity station near the work table. He pulled up an old metal fold out chair to take a seat, digging through the bottom rack to find the water to rise his wounds in. He could hear Reagan marching upstairs after him.

"Let me help. You can't even reach it." Reagan offers, her voice sounded like she tried to eat gravel.

"I can take care of it myself." He snaps.

"I happen to be a medic!"

Reagan takes the only roll of gauze from the medical tray and glares down at him in his chair. The way she responded with such conviction he was forced to let her help. She was right, he couldn’t reach all of it. Charon offered his dripping bloody arm to her, annoyed at her sudden hesitation to help. Reagan quickly dragged another chair from the work bench, taking a seat near him. Reagan stared down at his raw, calloused arm held out for her. It felt almost silly to her. Moments before they were fighting to the death, now she's going to patch him up. 

Reagan carefully takes his forearm, twisting it as far as he would allow her, removing bits of rust flakes from his wound with the medical tweezers, dabbing the blood away from the angry gash she sliced into him. Charon supposed her method was well practiced and done with a steady hand, for someone who had been drinking. Charon avoids looking at her, watching Dogmeat come up stairs licking up the blood on the tin ground. Wadsworth's idle waiting timed out and he returned to his charging station and Dogmeat came to their side to urge Charon for head pats.

"It's not like Erin to be gone for so long. He's never late to anything." Reagan pressed down on the worst wound that had cut deeply over his forearm with thick pad of gauze, then coughed into her elbow. She took another deep breath. "Hold pressure over this real quick."

Charon sighed, tired and annoyed. He clasped his hand over the gauze.

Reagan dug out another package, tearing it open. She piled the gauze on top of the other on the tray, turning back to his forearm. She pressed her thumb over the bloodied gauze and Charon moved his hand away to allow her to place a fresh pad on top of the other already soaking through with blood. There wasn't a rush of urgency to deal with the wound as it wasn't enough to do much harm. The loss of blood if not dealt and left as is could make him light headed. Nonetheless, Reagan was willing to clean him up and if she needed to put in a good stitch if she had to as a gesture of peace, then she would. Reagan tilted her head to look past his forearm to look at him. 

Charon knew she was staring, she was always staring. He was used to people staring, everyone stared at ghouls whether in disgusted curiosity or fear made no difference to how annoying it was for him. But the look in her eyes was keen. He decided to let it slip this time, since she was helping him. Reagan's grip tightened. He wasn't bothered by the pressure she firmly applied to the dressing, all he did was sit still and gaze down at Dogmeat resting his head on his knee. She sighed, moving her finger slightly to check for blood. It hadn't seeped further through the next layer of gauze. She instructed him to hold the gauze again, digging out the bandages. 

"Fans ain't working?" Reagan asked, her damaged voice was starting to soothe out.

Charon didn't answer her. Reagan rolled her eyes at him. Charon watched her hands wrap the cloth bandage around his arm several times, holding the gauze in place. She let him take over fumbling with tucking the ends under the wrapping to walk across the railing to take down one of the broken fans from the corner ceiling, and heft it with her to the workbench. She picked up one of the screw drivers to open the back panel then glanced over her shoulder to check on him. To her amusement, he was still trying to tuck in the corner of the wrapping with the one hand. She pinched at the wires inside the fan panel.

"You should travel with me. I'm going to go look for Erin." 

Charon only gave her another glare. Reagan turned around, expecting an answer. He finally tucked the corner into the fold.

"Erin could be really hurt, maybe captured by slavers again, or something. And if both of us go look for him then I know we can find him. Imagine how happy he would be to see both of us, his really good friends rescuing him." Reagan explained, turning back to the fan.

"I am not leaving..."

"Then stay here and be a complete jackass because Erin died out there waiting for help!"

"Are you done yet?" Charon grumbled under his breath.

Charon felt sick to his stomach from the stress of worrying for Erin. This was some sort of hell deciding if he really needed to make a decision or not. After hearing the recording of Erin's voice from Wadsworth's speakers only made things worse. Maybe Charon did miss Erin a bit, or worried more about the whereabouts of his contract. He reminded himself that he couldn't afford attachments but with Erin it had been difficult not to. Erin was too kind and never put himself first. If he did leave Megaton to search for Erin, he knew he could find him but one-party search team was hardly ever successful without proper leads. 

Charon looked over Reagan's handiwork on the wrappings impressed to see they were clean and well organized. They were better than many field surgeons offering medical attention out in the wasteland who usually just slapped on some medical tape that tore or lost their adhesive. He looked back to Reagan as she turned around, holding the fan in the crook if her arm and screwing shut the back panel. Though, maybe having a second body with him on the search may slow him down.

"I'll fund the trip and I can ask for directions for you since you seem to hate talking... we can find Erin together. I know it."

She waited for an answer, and he wasn't going to give her one. He's thought of leaving a million times. He couldn't do it then, he certainly wasn't going to do it now in tow with this woman. They had more fights than a full conversation between them. He couldn't stand her presence and without any doubt, it was clear she didn't respect any authority. Reagan went back to the nail sticking out of the corner, hooking the fan back into its place. She pushed the switch on with her thumb, filling the room with a droning hum from its little mechanisms, the propellers began to spin slowly then gradually picked up speed. She turned it a bit more to the right so it aimed across the room at Charon and Dogmeat. The air began to circulate. She gave a nod at the fan then turned to Charon with her hands on her hips and a determined look on her scarred face.

"I'll be outside the gates tomorrow morning," Reagan said, walking past him and the mess she made at the infirmary, "If you ain't there by midday, I'll just have to find someone else..."

Charon listens to her walk down stairs, leaving the shack and shutting the door behind her. Charon was left alone with the proposal. The droning of the fan filled up the silence and he was grateful for it. The heat in the room was lifting. The fan worked with vengeance to chase the stale humid air away, if the other two were repaired then it would be back to normal. Charon absently pats Dogmeat's head.

"What do you think, Dogmeat?" Charon muttered, scratching the tuff of fur on Dogmeat's neck. The mutt's tail wagging, thumping against the steel floor. "Think I should have just killed her?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Traveling buddies! The hunt begins.  
> Random encounters. Maps, evidence but no cigars.

The late afternoon sun was bright and hot against Reagan's face. She squinted her amber eyes from where she lounged on her back across an old tire outside the enormous metal gates of Megaton. She watches Deputy Welds spin on his central axis for the thousandth time as she chewed on a slice of tough Brahmin jerky. Its hydrologics hiss at each twist of the robotic hips and she absently wonders who keeps up on the robot's maintenance as she's not once seen the robot move from that very spot. It keeps welcoming her to Megaton and she keeps responding with a little wave with her fingers every time it twists towards her direction. 

From the corner of her eye she sees a Brahmin caravan coming around the boulders and up the little worn trail towards Megaton. She grunts and shifts her body to roll onto her stomach to watch them come closer. From the other side of the Brahmin steps out Crazy Wolfgang, dusty and sweaty from his travels. He adjusts his goggles around his neck, wiping away the beads of sweat with a faded red shop rag from his pocket then patting his other pockets to search for his cigarettes. His caravan guard is new, the last guard he had traveled with smelled like he had gangrene when she last encountered the peddler. But then she robbed the peddler with a handful of bastards from her brother’s gang. That was last year. Maybe he forgotten all that? Men can be very forgetful.

Reagan sits up, her movement caught the attention of the caravan guard. The guard watches her, full of suspicion at her visible armor she wore. It was typical armor someone with no good intentions would wear, spiked, painted black and modified to be lighter on her shoulders without compromising resistance. Sports gear did wonders to make her look more imposing than her height and attitude could do alone. She walked slowly from the tires over to the men, hands visible and a smile on her face. Wolfgang looked like he was about to turn tail and run but he hasn't given the order to shoot her yet. Reagan knew she still looked like a raider and it has made settlers uneasy when she was around. She made great efforts to be more friendly and approachable but then, she also hasn't put too much effort to change the way she looked either. Only a handful of people could be outgoing while covered in blood splatters, and she was definitely not one of those chosen few. She ran her hand through her wildly cropped hair to adjust what the wind tried to disrupt and waved to Wolfgang. The man frowned.

"Backbiter..." Wolfgang greeted her bitterly, "you're pretty far from home, aren't you?" 

Reagan smiled brightly, she hadn't been called by that name in a while. Only a few in Capitol Wasteland knew her by her tribal name and many were raiders, others were the few caravan drivers like Wolfgang. Reagan knew she didn't have that big of a reputation anywhere, not like her brother, but that life was way too far west. She was a two thousand miles and then some from the little box canyon she called home and with no plans to head back anytime soon. A good distance to try again. The term was turn over a new leaf, but it was going to be simpler here than waiting for a leaf to sprout to begin with. She didn't have that kind of patience.

"I'm on vacation, man." She said, "What do you have to trade for today?"

Wolfgang made a move to turn to the pack out of habit but hesitated at mid-turn, not wanting to turn his back on her. His eyes scanned around the area for any signs of ambush from the rocks around him and his caravan. He made several mistakes to trust her too quickly for chances of making caps. Last time Reagan had surrounded him, and her gang robbed him of all his supplies, even his boots. Other times before that he had to buy new mercenaries to guard his wares. Wolfgang saw that Deputy Welds was still in working order, and he could see Stockholm searching the area around them with his rifle scope above the gates on the small catwalk and paying no mind to Reagan. With a few more glances around them, Wolfgang saw that no one was outside with Reagan so he decided that she must be truly alone after all. His guard must have finally realized his boss's suspicious behavior and adjusted his grip on his rifle. Reagan took another step forward, leaning on the Brahmin's stocky withers. The guard snapped his fingers and gave a warning, Reagan scowled at him but backing off from the packs.

"Fine, but step back." Wolfgang spat out, unlatching one of the larger packs off the bags.

Reagan followed him to level ground where he knelt down to lay out his goods on an old broken sign lying before them as a table. Reagan squatted down on the other side, plucking up one of the leather belts, testing the elasticity of the leather, frowning at its rotting on the end near the buckle and tossed it back down with the other belts piled up to find the best one as Wolfgang laid out more for display. Reagan snatched up a gardening glove, slipping the old ratted glove over her hand, then frowning when her finger poked through a hole. Nonetheless she tossed it with the six bottles of purified water to place in a pile next to her and going back to study over the junk before her. Wolfgang was whispering to the guard that knelt next to him. While they glared at Reagan, she paid no mind to them as she made her pile bigger. She took all three of his boxes of sugar bombs, an old belt and glove with a few rolls of duct tape to join her supply of four cans of beans, two boxes of steak and jerky bags. She glanced to the boxes of shotgun ammo in thought.

"Is that it?" Wolfgang droned.

"Uh, yeah." She answered, pulling her bag around to the front of her hip.

"All that is gunna be 500 caps."

Reagan balked, than snorted out a laugh, "That's not fair, Wolfgang."

"That's my price."

Reagan pulled the junk food and salvage and into her bag, smiling but it didn't reach her eyes, Wolfgang frowned when she made no notion to give any of it back to him.

"150... or 200 maybe, but not 500." She said, standing up, strapping the pack shut.

"500, damnit, I knew you'd give me trouble!"

The caravan guard stepped around the over turned sign they used as a table, grabbing her wrist to stop her from taking the rest of the sugar bomb boxes. Reagan moved too quickly for the guard to anticipate, slipping free her hand and shoving him back to put space between herself and him. The guard rushed to grab the strap of her pack. He lost his grip and Reagan grabbed his hand with both her hands, twisting it until the guard cried out and knelt down in the dirt in pain to prevent her from breaking his arm she forced into a painful position. Wolfgang stumbled back in shock into the caravan bags on the brahmin, nervous of what she would do next to this caravan guard. Reagan twisted the arm once more, ignoring his cry out for mercy beneath her. Wolfgang met Reagan's eyes and he nodded his head, desperate for her to release the guard.

"Fine! Fine! 250!" He cried out.

"Your caps, Wolfgang." She ordered, "and that box of them shotgun shells."

"What!"

"How long you gunna last out there without no caravan guard?"

"I agreed on your price!"

Reagan twisted on the guard's tender arm, causing him to cry out louder in a shrill voice. Wolfgang stared bewildered, he was certain she wasn't bluffing as he picked up the case of shells and took his bundle of caps - all 300 of them- and passed it to her outstretched palm. Reagan released the guard's arm and stepped back to let him get to his feet. She stuffed the box and bundle of caps into her pack, pulling it back around her hip. The guard cradles his aching arm, backing up to Wolfgang's side like a wounded pet.

"Charon!" Wolfgang gasped out, looking over Reagan's shoulder, "I'm glad you showed up to take out the trash!"

Reagan turned around quickly and beams when she sees Charon. She is so happy to see him, relieved that he at least left the gates. Not only that but he has a pack on his shoulders and his combat shotgun in hand, dressed in reinforced leather armor. Reagan noticed that the leather was aged but taken care of well. Also, it fit him perfectly, not at all too small or too large on his shoulders. It may have even been tailored to him ages back. Charon looks down at her in a look of a scold and stopped just out of arms reach of her. He had probably seen the whole exchange between the three. Despite being outside Megaton and all packed and ready to go, he still looked like he was needing to be convinced this was a good idea before going any further. Charon shifted his eyes from Wolfgang to watch how the caravan guard was fumbling with one good arm trying to pull back the charging handle on his rifle but didn't put any strain on the apparent broken fingers.

"She robbed me!" 

"I got all the supplies for our trip and I got backup gear to repair my weapon, plus I already had some stuff I got from the Brass Lantern and what Gob let me run off with." Reagan quickly told Charon to drown out Wolfgang's out cry.

Charon looked back to Reagan. Her smile caused her eyes squint when she saw his slightest nod, it made her scars on her face look like fault lines over her copper skin. Her dark circles under her eyes looked a bit lighter from when he last saw her, and her bruises were nearly gone. Wolfgang paled, he looked like he was going to be sick right then. He quickly gestured to his vengeful caravan guard to stand back, shoving the rifle barrel to point at the rocks rather than the woman. Reagan thought it was interesting, mostly amusing, wondering what sort of reputation this ghoul must have out in the wasteland. Maybe she was traveling with some big shot? Erin always had the knack for finding the most unique of peoples.

Wolfgang struggled to form his words, and smiled awkwardly, "Oh! I did not realize-"

Charon interrupts him, "Have you seen Erin?"

Wolfgang seemed to recover from whatever was bothering him, his eyebrows raised high. He cleared his throat, "I haven't seen him since I passed through Greyditch."

"How long ago?"

"A few weeks?"

Charon literally bristles at the news; his scowl was dark even Reagan leaned back to marvel at it. Charon crossed his arms. So, Erin was in the area a few weeks ago and didn't bother coming back into Megaton. He was definitely going to express his disappointment as soon as he caught up with Erin. While he had been here, worrying himself insane and his contract holder was only a few miles away at the least! 

Wolfgang continued to fill the silence, "I bought a bunch of gear from him I've never seen before! Said he found a new route and he was gunna clear it out for the rest of us."

"What kind of route?”

“Which direction?" Reagan quips.

"Northwest? He never said where."

Charon grumbled and walked away, heading down the trail. Reagan glanced back to Wolfgang holding up finger guns at him before running off to catch up with Charon's long strides. He could really move, she had to hurry her own pace to keep up with him and she was nearly as tall as he was. She sized him up, watching him pull his shotgun from his shoulders to rest in his arms. He was focused on their surroundings, keen eyes searching for movement of a potential threat hiding around them in the ruins. Reagan slowed down to walk behind him, passing to his right side. His pack looked light, probably only carried essentials, ammo and maybe another weapon. She couldn't tell, but she knew she would have a chance to dig through it when he fell asleep.

Erin sure knew how to pick them. Tall, looked good in leather, so serious too. Reagan held back a snicker at his brooding glance her way as she returned to his side, her staring was pretty obvious. He took a left at the Megaton sign heading up hill along the ruin of an old road. Reagan looked at the combat shotgun. It was in good condition though it obviously wasn't a new buy. It may even be as old as his leathers. It was clean and held comfortable in his hands had shown his experience with it and Reagan found it wasn't as threatening now as it had been when the cold metal barrel pressed against her neck. She looked back to him. Was he always like this? He was constantly on alert for everything with a glare that dared anything to step out for a fight, he hardly glanced at her and didn't speak one word to her today. Admittedly, she was surprised to see him leave Megaton. Reagan stood up straight like he did, unclipping her deathclaw gauntlet from her pants loop and slipped her hand through the brace and into the glove. She tightened the belt around her wrist, looking back to him. He still wasn't paying attention to her.

Reagan cleared her throat, "Why do you think Erin would go that far?"

"Listen," he stops in his tracks and turned to make eye contact, "I do not want to play twenty questions with you on this entire trip. I did not come along to be friends with you, smoothskin. I was going to leave Megaton already, but the success rate increases if we work together. As I have said: if it is not related to our search of Erin, then I do not want to hear it. My only interest is to find Erin."

Reagan stared at him, her scarred eyebrows raised high. Definitely wasn't expecting to hear so many words from him. She had been warned by Gob and Nova, sometimes at the same time that if she managed to convince Charon out of Megaton, he wasn't exactly talkative. One of the constant warnings was to not push her luck, whatever that meant. Gob joked lightly about him being a machine. Then following that, he advised her to avoid talking to him. Gob explained he was short tempered while Nova insisted that he was just grumpy. Reagan was led to believe he could get tired of company quickly. She already thought he was simply reclusive due to keeping himself locked up in Erin's shack, only coming out to smoke and let Dogmeat out and maybe go for a drink. She frowned at Charon's glare, she wasn't looking for a friendship with him. She was looking for a capable traveling partner to help her find Erin. Reagan sure as hell wasn't going to travel anywhere past Megaton without some sort of guide. The guide now happened to be Charon.

Reagan huffed, "I was only asking to see if Erin had told you anything. I didn't want to have to travel with-"

Charon walked off, ignoring her response completely. Reagan gaped, offended. She growled under her breath, watching him march up the hill. She quickly jogged to catch back up with him. He was half way down the hill near a skeleton of an old farm house and it's mill when he stopped again. She hopped to a stop between him and the mailbox watching a young man in rags running towards them from the direction of the farm house. His eyes were wide with fear and he was clearly running for his life from something. Reagan showed her teeth in annoyance when the wastelander tripped over his own feet to come nearer to them. He half crawled through the dead grasses and rocks, pulling himself to his feet by the fence post. His clothing caught on the barbed wire fence and he pulled away, tearing himself loose. He gasped for air when he fell at their feet, holding out his hand to them to grovel. Both recoiled from his hands, and the man pleaded louder.

"Help!" He cried, panting, "please, help me!"

Charon stood still but didn't say anything to the wastelander, looking past him. Reagan walked around Charon's shadow, watching the man practically crawl closer to their feet, babbling and continuously crying for help. His face was dirty, and his tears cut through the grime in streams. His clothing was ruined, though they were ragged, and looked similar to slave rags. His hands were scraped raw from constantly falling onto the ground. The man's shirt was covered in blood from what appeared to be a bullet wound in his shoulder. His neck was raw from a missing collar. Reagan stepped around Charon and grabbed the crying man's shirt collar, holding the Deathclaw gauntlet up threateningly. He nearly screamed, trying to cover his face. 

"Depends." Reagan shoved the man back down before he could try to latch onto her for comfort, "I could help if you have the caps."

The man shook his head, going limp in her grasp as he let out a lamenting howl then covering his face. Reagan dropped his collar with an annoyed huff, letting his body drop to the ground. He was clearly in hysterics, no doubt lost, and sleep deprived. So, she guessed, as his eyes were too blood shot from stress and crying to tell otherwise. He wouldn't be much good until he was given time to settle down but who knows how long that would take. Reagan padded at his pockets, searching for any valuables to take from him, she tried to take his boots off to search in his socks, but he was still able to kick back. She found nothing, not one cap, not even trash in his pockets. 

Reagan's head snapped up after hearing the safety click on the shotgun. She turned over her shoulder to Charon. He was still staring off in the direction the man had come. She narrowed her eyes and followed his line of sight. There was a man on the road walking down the hill towards them. He had a sniper rifle in his hands, the other raised in a peaceful gesture. His eyes were hidden behind thick sunshades, and his blond hair was blowing in the wind like some damn mirage from hell. Reagan bared her teeth in a grimace and suddenly this wastelander's hysterics was understood.

Reagan hissed to Charon between gritted teeth, "He's no good, Charon."

Charon didn't answer her, allowing the man with the sniper rifle to come closer, but not lowering his shotgun by no means. Charon had noticed Reagan's antsy behavior as she stepped over the still sniveling wastelander on the ground to stand at his side like some half feral creature ready to rush eagerly into a fight. Many wastelanders Charon encountered with Erin had not been hostile, many of them offered trade and even directions, if it had been Charon's choice then he would have avoided all contact if possible. However, it was not uncommon to run into a few living passerbys in the wasteland, whether they were good or bad. 

Charon's eyes turn to the sniper rifle then back to the man's face, if this was a raider then he could have just shot them from a distance rather than expose himself directly. He was too clean and steady to be a raider. There was something off about this man. The sniper did not come any closer, stopping just out of range for a shotgun. He did not smile nor greet them, his sunshades concealing his eyes. Neither said anything to one another, locked in some glaring contest. Reagan glanced to Charon, expecting him to say something. Of course, she should have realized he wasn't going to. Reagan took a small step forward, then another with much more confidence. She gazed to the left and then the right to scan the horizon and the ruins. She turned her eyes and squinted at the man in suspicion.

"You alone?" She asked.

The man with the rifle smirked and tilted his head to look to her. The sun reflected off his shades, "The two of you are in my way."

"That?" Reagan asked, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder to the wastelander.

The sniper nodded.

Reagan looked back to Charon. At that moment the wastelander managed to catch his breath, picking himself off the payment and ran up the hill as fast as he could. His worn boots slipping on the fine rubble in his haste. A deafening crack from the rifle attacked Reagan's eardrums and the wastelander landed on the ground hard, motionless and silent. Reagan slouched instinctively to dodge the next round, turning back to the sniper, the smoking barrel was pointed to her face and the lock slid back to project the empty casing and slide a new bullet in place. Reagan tensed up, taking a step back. The sniper turned his head to Charon, taking slow steps towards Reagan.

"Alright, drop your weapons and gear and I won't blow her face off!" He yelled, stepping closer.

Reagan scoffed, taking another step back. She recognized him now. Warrick worked at the Falls some years back when her brother made contact in the Capitol. He would hunt down the slaves that escaped the pens. Warrick was good at tracking and executions much not much else. He was also a liar. He had no pistols to draw from his hip, or knife for close encounters. If she crowded him then she would rob him and ditch his body here. Reagan hoped Charon would call that out. Reagan swung the claw around, knocking the long awkward barrel of the rifle from her face. Warrick fired his rifle, missing them both. She spun to deliver a slice to his face.

Reagan stumbled back when blood splashed over her cheeks, her ears ringing louder from another close gunshot. Warrick's face was reduced to a bloodied mess. His body tensed stiff and fell back on its heels onto the ruined road. Reagan gaped again, staring down at the body in shock. Her chest raised and fell as she breathed in quickly. What a day this was turning out to be. She saw the movement of the shotgun barrel, absently wondering how Charon got so close. The ringing in her ears were chiming among the rush of blood from adrenaline. She took a couple of deep breaths to force herself to calm down. Charon passed her by like a shadow, continuing down the road towards the Super-Duper Mart, still as serious as before as if no one had tried to rob them. 

Reagan cursed under her breath, she would be deaf by the end of the day if this shit kept up. No one must have told Charon it was absolutely rude to fire off a gun next to someone's ear! She knelt over the leftovers of the sniper, picking up his bloodied shades to put on her own face and taking his rifle from his hands. When She saw his dog tags around his neck adorned with human teeth and a couple of ears, she knew for certain that was who this was. She remembered him insulting the number of the boys in her gang. There wasn't many of them who survived the distance to Capitol Wasteland. Now, he wouldn't be laughing anymore. 

Reagan slung the rifle over her shoulders, searching for where Charon went off to. Super-Duper Mart, that's right. In fact, his pace had hurried in that direction. Reagan huffed, she did wish Charon would say something instead of just being a constant presence of contempt. When she traveled with Erin, he had been a light-hearted chatter box, but then again so was she as it was rude to her to leave a conversation hanging. It often got them into trouble and she admits to it, but it wasn't definitely straining. 

Charon was already at the bottom of the hill at the store corner when Reagan detected three armored men appear from around the building. A red glow of laser fire streamed past Charon's head. He was unfazed by how closely it burned through the air near his head, dodging gunfire to take position behind the bus in the parking lot. Reagan rushed forward to race downhill, she didn't know how Charon knew the ambush would be there, but he was outnumbered.

Fire was then directed at her when she came into range, she dove behind the nearest car and bullets ricocheted off the metal. She could hear the thundering of Charon's shotgun, her attempt to be included in the fight worked to draw their fire from his position. She heard one of the armored men cry out in pain, someone called them to take cover. Reagan peeked around the car, spotting Charon ducking out of the way of a close call with the laser. She ducked her head beneath the car, watching the hazy movements of black boots rushing to gather behind a car further down the parking lot. One was helping the other who had been shot while the third stopped firing long enough to reload. Reagan dashed across the parking lot to the bus, throwing herself into the vehicle's side next to Charon. 

"How many of them are there?" Reagan asked, wincing in pain when she bumped her arm.

"Why haven't you used that damn rifle?" He complained.

Reagan scoffed, now wasn't the time for griping. She shoved the rifle into his arms and turned away before he could complain. She climbed up the stairs into the bus, peeking out the broken windows. She could see their position more clearly now. They were still behind the car. The injured man didn't look to be too bad off. She climbed back down the stairs, scooting around Charon and peeking around the bus. Yeah, they weren't too far away. She could work with this. There were plenty of cars to duck behind.

"Hey, zombie!" One of the called out, "Where's Erin?" 

"Why are they looking for Erin too?" Reagan looked up.

"Talon Company." Charon answered, leaning further into the shade, "who are they not after?"

"Not me! Must be because I'm a model citizen."

Charon ducked back behind the bus as a hail of bullets pelted against the edge, shoving back Reagan from his side. She leaned back on the bus next to him, fumbling around in her pack, sticking a dried piece of jerky into her mouth. Charon tried to listen for movement beyond the bus. The mercenaries were definitely out of range for his shotgun, every time he tried to check on their location, they would open fire. Charon was patient. He could wait for them to waste their rounds or get impatient and decide to advance on their position. 

Reagan dug into her pocket of her pants, pulling out a grenade. She grinned mischievously, looking up to Charon. He gritted his teeth when she pulled the pin, delaying her toss. She was absolutely insane. He almost decided to step out of cover to avoid the grenade until she finally stepped out into the open and threw the it across the parking lot. Charon watched Reagan take off running the moment the grenade exploded over the car the Talon Company mercenaries had been taking cover. 

Charon stepped out to watch her attack the mercenaries while they were stunned by the blast. The attack with deathclaw gauntlet was vicious. It sliced through the thick leather of their pants, tearing off armor, slicing open their backs as they tried to dodge her. Blood sprayed out of a shredded artery. Charon couldn't see most of the attack because of the car blocking his view but when the struggling stopped, Reagan came around. Her armor was dripping with blood and bits of gore were clinging to the claws on her left hand. She slung her bloody hand, wiping at her cheek to clean it but only smeared more blood on herself. She cursed, pushing her hair back from her brow, smearing that with blood.

"Do they usually travel in packs?"

Charon glanced around, passing the carnage without a glance either. He just marched up the hill without a word. It appears Reagan had surprises. He didn't quite like the idea of her being unpredictable like this and utterly reckless, but at least she brought the standoff at a close. Personally, he would have handled the situation differently if he had been in her situation. He glanced at the rifle he had resting on his shoulder and scowled. If he had the rifle before, then he wouldn't have left the mailbox and took shots at the mercenaries from the farm hill. Reagan decided she needed to bring the weapon along, why didn't she use it? He pushed the rifle back into Reagan's bloodied arms when she ran up next to him. She fumbled trying to catch it with one hand before she ended up dropping the stock on the pavement. Reagan pushed it back, but he refused to take it.

"I am not carrying your shit."

"I got it for you. I don't use guns. I got my claw and hot potatoes." 

Charon stopped under the shadows of the massive broken overpass above them. Reagan nearly tripped over her own feet, looking around with wide eyes. It took her half a second to realize there were no danger, but Charon was staring at her through narrowed eyes. She stood up straight, holding the rifle out to him again by its barrel.

"You do not use guns?" He had a hard time believing that.

Reagan adjusted the sunshades on her face and nodded, "I'm no good with them. Can't even hit the broad side of a Brahmin."

"A barn." Charon corrected.

"Can't hit one of those either! Unless I'm up close like this," she explained with her palm in front of her face, "then I can just... whack! Right in the face."

Charon shouldered his shotgun, taking the rifle from Reagan. He gave the gun a once over for any visible damage, he couldn't account for how it would fire, especially after that horrible attempt Reagan made to slide into cover. He peered down the sights towards the tall buildings around Greyditch, the scope was clean and didn't have much grime on it. He lowered it from the crook of his shoulder and pulled back the bolt lock to discover that it was loaded this entire time. He rolled his eyes when he discovered the safety had been off also. He was surprised it hadn't misfired and blown Reagan's head off yet. He checked the short magazine, counting only two other rounds in his palm. He shook his head. It would be extra weight and bulky to carry around, especially with only three rounds available. He debated whether it would be any use if he decided to lug it around. 

"Can you use it?" 

Charon sneered, looking back to her, "Of course I can."

"Geez, alright." Reagan said with a small smile, shrugging her shoulders.

Reagan covered her mouth with a couple of her fingers to stifle a laugh, walking towards Greyditch. Charon clicked the safety on, replacing it with his shotgun on his back, continuing through the rubble.

\---

Grayditch had a fitting name. It described the location perfectly. The wind that passed through the holes in the buildings sounded eerie and the echoes of their footsteps were carried off in distances. Charon had passed through the ruins of the prewar city only a few times. Last time had been with Erin after the death of James. Erin had taken it exceptionally hard losing his father. The two had never been close as a family as hey pretended to be in the vaults, so Charon didn’t understand why Erin mourned the death so heavily. Erin’s only explanation was the regret he felt. Erin said he had many regrets, but not building a real relationship with his father was the worst. Charon never regrets anything.

No one resettled Grayditch after Erin exterminated those over grown fire ants. Not even raiders would build camps here. Supermutants didn’t come within the limits. There was like a bubble around it. Another ghost town littering the dead wasteland. The path so far had been appreciatively quiet. There were no more encounters with wastelanders, only age-old signs of life of left behind fire pits, scraps of clothing and bullet casings. Reagan had been just as quiet, she quit humming to herself two miles ago. She also hasn’t opened her mouth about some observation she’s made along the way of cloud formations or lack of shrubbery.

Charon had worse to contend with in traveling with others the exception this time is that he chose who to travel with this time. He would be lying if he said it was a good choice. He was contemplating on turning back to Megaton. Charon had made measures to ensure his location to Erin if his employer had returned while he was gone. He left a written note on the fridge, a recording with Wadsworth and both Sherriff Simms and Gob had been notified. Gob had tried to talk him out of leaving with Reagan. She must have told Nova and Gob what had happened as Charon told them he was leaving alone.

Charon was on the fence about Reagan. Reagan liked to travel wearing heavy armor and a waist pack. She had no guns, so he didn’t have to worry about being shot on the trail, however he still wasn’t certain she wouldn’t put a knife in his ribs. She was a quiet walker, surefooted and kept up pace. Her heavy pack did not slow her down as it would have. He did dislike her humming. It also irked him that he didn’t know the tune of the song. She kept good hiking distance and Charon could hike as quick as he wanted, and she would not trail behind him. Reagan was tall enough to keep up with his strides.

A few blocks into the city, Charon looked for the blue mail box that marked a refugee’s abandoned home. Erin had taken it over as a safehouse before he bought the contract. It had been organized inside, well-lit and stocked with supplies. Charon had thought this was Erin’s base of operations so to speak because of its protected angles and working locks. He would have preferred to live in quiet Grayditch like pre-war ghosts, but Erin had called Megaton as home. The weak door on the outside was just a front, behind it was a steel door and a single lock. 

That’s when Reagan no longer took point behind him but took quick strides to reach it before him. She dug out a little sliver key on a ring of others of various sizes and colors. Charon was irritated when he discovered she had a key to the place. Reagan made herself at home to the efficiency. She marched up stairs and kicked off her boots at the door way and tossed her dusty pack onto the couch. She turned on the radio full volume. Charon silently fumed in the doorway as she howled with Three-Dog. He never knew anyone could make howling more annoying. 

Charon unshouldered his pack, placing it on the table in the corner and resting the rifle against the chair. If Erin had been here, Reagan would have flushed him out of his corner already. The layer of dust on the counters and boxes of supplies wasn’t as helpful. It wouldn’t be so simple for Erin to be in the first location they reached. Erin was little guy and moved around a lot. He passed Reagan into the kitchen. She was walking through the rooms, searching for clues. Charon turned down the radio volume, causing Reagan to protest from another room. Charon took a bottle of purified water from the fridge and left the kitchen.

Erin must not have come here at all. That had been his first thought until he sulked into Erin’s room in the back. Reagan was facing the decorated wall with her arms crossed. A massive map of the D.C area was pieced together with other maps collected from stores and gift shops. There were tons of little x’s crossed out over known locations of vaults that the two have traveled through and some areas Erin must have traveled to alone or before. Charon stood next to Reagan, both staring at the notes gathered together. Charon traced the highlighted routes, over more x’s and labeled towns and camps. He spied the circle drawn around the Museum of History and Rivet City. Another around the National Archives but it had been later scratched over with an x as well. But more importantly were the question marks around the Arlington Library marker.

Erin was looking for something important enough to put this much energy into these notes in his search. It still did not soften the offense Charon felt to be left behind on this trip. Many of these areas he knew were dangerous to go alone without proper fire power or back up. That only stressed him further. 

“Where do you think he went? A library, museum or Rivet City?”

Charon looked to Reagan. She was holding a fusion battery in her hand, adjusting the wires that were connected to a lamp. The light flickered then powered on brightly. Charon grunted. He didn’t know. But these clues were better than nothing. 

“If we knew what he was hunting for, then we could anticipate his next location.”

“It does not matter what Erin is looking for. As long as he is found.”

Reagan shrugged her shoulder, placing the battery back on the shelf. She leafed through the papers on his little desk near the wardrobe, while he memorized locations. She pushed aside old papers, old books on water tables and holodisk piles. She logged onto his terminal, skimmed through his journals and files. Nothing really gave any hints on his journey. She scrolled through the dull green text until she found a scanned image of the same map on the wall with the same notes. Everything was at a standstill. 

“If it helps, his last entry was two months ago.” 

Charon didn’t answer. It did not help him. Erin could have gone to Megaton two months ago and picked him up and he could avoid this would mess altogether. Reagan logged off the terminal. Charon didn’t like that she dug around Erin’s belongings, these things did not belong to her, but honestly, he didn’t feel like he had the right to go through Erin’s things either. He felt like he was intruding on his employer’s personal life. This was all very secret, and they were blatantly leafing through everything just to find him.

To travel to Rivet City was going to be a pain the ass and there wasn’t a contact there except for a hair dresser. He couldn’t ask anyone at Arlington Library. There had been looming growth of Brotherhood of Steel activity searching for pre-war tech and knowledge. The Scribes wouldn’t be too eager to speak with him as they were notorious for disliking anything that wasn’t a smoothskin. The museum would be the best bet. The ghouls there loved Erin. He could ask Willow for any signs of Erin being the in area and he wouldn’t have to go back inside.

Charon left Erin’s room, Reagan is knelt down, pushing the couch from the wall. She pulls up the ugly carpet to reveal a compartment. He comes over to watch her pull up the plank and reach down. She pulls out two bags, he spied two more left over when she pushed everything back into place. She stands up and hands him one of the bags. Its big enough to it in his hand, filled with caps. She stuffs hers into her pack on her hip. Charon raises his eyebrows, impressed with the amount inside. 

“In case, you know, something happens, and you got caps.”

“How many…”

“Just 500 in them. I got them stashed everywhere. I usually just give left overs to Erin. If we are going to ask around for the Lone Wanderer, then we better have the caps to loose lips. And if that doesn’t work…” 

“There are other ways to acquire information.”

Reagan smiled and nodded, “I know a few tricks too.” She shrugs again and gestures back to Erin’s room, “Where are we going now?”

“Underworld.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change Tactics. Rest Stop. A flash back.  
> Anacostia Crossing. Welcome Tourist.

Super mutants cause them to stop and take cover. The south road they took was congested with cars, bumper to bumper. Their fried-up drivers long dead and stuck in traffic forever. Charon knew the super mutants would be in this area and would expect more the closer they traveled to the Capitol. Through the binoculars he spied a passing centaur wandering around the street corner. A lightly armored brute talking to two other super mutants. They won’t fire on him if he had been alone. Reagan would draw their attention and passing through would be difficult. He had already wasted time by leaving Megaton so late and the Talon ambush, it would take longer to reach the metro if he decided to bypass them now.

Charon lowers the binoculars. Reagan is staring at him in anticipation. She didn’t spot the mutants and would have continued without a care if he hadn’t said anything. He passes the binoculars to her and she fumbles holding it to her face while wearing her gauntlet. She hums low in her throat and smiles. Charon adjusts his pack on his back to return the binoculars. She tightens the straps on the gauntlet.

"I bet I can take the brute before you do."

Charon refrains from rolling his eyes.

"Your shotgun doesn't have enough range to get him. Don't make me do all the work."

Reagan darts around the car, running along the faint traces of the highway’s center line between the cars. Charon grumbles, quickly following her. She moves fast through the zigzag of cars, almost knocking over a motor cycle leaning against a truck. He loses her in the cars. He didn’t want to climb on top of the vehicles to keep up and alert the mutants of their advancement. There is the sound of the mini gun engine rolling to prepare to fire. The stale wind carries past Charon the smell of smoke. He takes a peek over a tail gate of a truck and the centaur spotted him. It gurgles in alarm and waddles to face him, Charon ducks as it spits. 

A car nearest to it explodes, killing it before Charon could get close enough. He curses under his breath as the chain reaction starts and the cars began to explode after one another. The wave of rads rush through the air in a wave, heating his skin, following it would be the fire. Charon quickly races out of traffic just before the truck he had dodged behind caught fire. A mutant appears out of the smoke and looks shocked to see him. In the distance the mini gun is firing wildly, rounds spray past Charon and the mutant. Charon fires off his shotgun before the mutant could form its next move. 

By the time he reaches the hill, he sees the brute on the ground, flesh torn open and exposed. Charon walked completely around it, avoiding the smell of the mutant. In the brush, the other mutant is still trying to cling to life with a torn jugular, choking and gurgling like a centaur. Charon walks by, hearing its struggles fade away. He finds Reagan sitting on the curb, picking gore from the gauntlet with a twig. He scowls. He would have preferred to avoid distractions like this to delay their route. Reagan was a wildcard. He did not like this behavior.

"This is not working out. You ditched me in traffic and expected me to follow you?"

“What do you mean?” Reagan laughed, "You're mad I took out the brute before you? You got the one with the rubber knees that ran off."

"No, smoothskin," he snapped, "I am lucky I have the experience to stay alive in that shit show by myself."

"Wait, so this isn't a free for all?"

Charon stares at her incredulously, "No! Working as a team! What the fuck kind of team have you been with? How are you even still alive?"

Reagan got to her feet. She didn’t like to be yelled at by anyone. She didn’t see the problem like he did. She was used to doing things her way and he was used to more organized approach. Reagan was also used to more than one person having her back. Charon did things differently. She lifted her chin and adjusted the sunshades on her nose. She stepped off the curve and walked right up to him. He fumed, fists clinched.

"Don't you yell at me!” She warned, poking her finger into his chest with every word. “Maybe I should have hit some ground rules before disembarking on a grand rescue!"

Charon snatched a hold of her wrist faster than she could blink and shoved her back, "Do not touch me."

Reagan stared at him. She typically would start a fight then if it was anyone else. Back home you just didn’t like others push you around even if you got in their face first. Reagan needed a different approach to Charon. She never met anyone so serious like him. He was stronger than her and there was no one out here to break them up if they start fighting again. She took a deep breath to calm herself.

“Alright, better communication time. No more free for all’s. We will be a team. A good team too, I promise. We back each other up."

Charon narrowed his eyes, half tempted to return to Megaton. He glanced towards it, he could see it in the distance still. Half a day’s walk back. If he didn’t already tell everyone what he was setting out to do, then he would go back without hesitation. He needed to find Erin. It would be easier with two people in a search, but how badly did he really need Reagan? What use was she good for exactly other than chaos? It was dangerous enough to engage in combat with a plan. 

"Charon? How could we make fighting smoother for both of us?"

Charon looked to her. How did she look so convincing in being open for criticism? 

"I want to help keep each other alive as long as possible. So, let us start over, I'm Reagan." she offers her hand for a shake.

Charon sighs. And yielded. He reluctantly accepted her handshake. Her hand isn't small in his. She has calloused hands, even with her torn gloves but still very soft compared to his. She beams those sharp broken teeth. She squeezes tightly, and nods. He lets go, watching her gesture around her in question, open to anything that he would have to throw at her. She must really want to avoid working alone. He wondered that she needed him more.

"Erin used rockets and I was his defense. I never worked... with someone who uses strictly melee because no one is that reckless." Reagan thought that was amusing.

"Then should I defend you? Because I fight without guns?"

"You only use melee? No guns?"

"Yeah pretty much, I told you that before. I'm a poor shot."

Charon grumbles, leading the way north again. Reagan walks alongside him this time, looking to him. Reagan watched him think silently, she could almost see the gears turning in his head. She finally found something to talk to him about that he was interesting in discussing. She could adapt. If you couldn’t do that, you often died quickly out in the wasteland. How hard could it be? She ran raids more times than she could count and fought in skirmishes the moment she was old enough to hold a machete.

"You do move around well enough..." 

"Thank you-"

"You should flank them and take out weak points. If this was close quarters and not out in the open like we are now." Charon continues. Reagan watches him mime out terrain, his hands making a V pattern, "I have a shotgun and you have your gauntlet. Soon we will reach the metros and we will do well there. I could just juggernaut the whole ordeal in their confusion when you attack but not every gunfight will have cover... do you have any more grenades?"

"Yes!" She exclaimed, "I have experience with explosives. And I make some."

"I have three I will give you."

Charon slung over his pack, fishing out the trio of grenades. Reagan accepted them eagerly. Charon got very quiet again, he stares at her for a moment. He's going over some thoughts, she can see the way his eyes focus and squint at the edges that he's considering more, and she waits with a small content smile, but instead of sharing, he walks past her. Reagan rushes to keep up with him. He's back under his serious mask, glaring at his surroundings as before.

"That's the most I've ever heard you talk."

He grunts. Reagan steps over a massive pot hole in the road. The sun was falling lower on their right, casting the sky into a gross mixture of orange in the murky clouds. They were always a faded mossy color, as if filled with moisture, but never let their rain pour. Reagan was glad it didn’t. Any clouds that color promised radiation poisoning. They leave the road to pass a pile of smashed cars, concrete torn up in rocky clumps and soon the road is barely tangible. They kept their direction by the position of the sun.

"I know you said no to any questions, but you never said anything about just talking. And I'd like to know who I'm roaming round with."

"Worried about your safety?"

"No, Erin trusted you. I just don't know you. Like, do you work for him? Like a merc, or are you guys also friends?"

"I have worked for Erin for six years."

"But you two are friends?"

"He is my employer."

"Wow, they were right, you are a machine." Reagan scoffed. “You can’t work for someone for that long and not like them a little bit…”

"I am no machine."

"Did I offend you? You're surprisingly sensitive for a big tough guy." She says. "You don't like to be touched, name calling and what next?"

"You are starting to talk too much."

"I get bored easy. This stems behavioral problems."

\---

By nightfall they did not reach the metro entrance as Charon had hoped as there was just so much resistance on the way with passing encounters with raiders and more super mutant activity that slowed them down. Neither of them had suffered injures outside of scrapes and bumps. Reagan had cooperated like she promised and did not run towards the first trouble that stuck its head out from the ditches. His supply of shells was suffering. Rivet City would be near the metro and he would stop there for supplies if the gate was feeling generous and let him in. Caravans took the same route to the ship and would be an adequate back up for supplies.

Reagan was proving to be good spirits about not stopping to rest. He expected more complaining. Charon picked out a building that was in a better condition than the others, prying open the wooden panels bolted across the jammed doors. The two of them managed to get inside the building without damaging the only way in or out. They moved furniture to barricade the windows and doors. Reagan explored the interior with a makeshift torch made with a leg of a chair and it’s stuffing. She later came down stairs with a mattress, dumping it onto the ground, then went back to retrieve the other one. Charon planned on keeping watch all night.

Reagan finds a hotpot in the half-collapsed kitchen, taking it back into the central room they set up for camping. From her pack she took out the battery and the wires, plugging up the hot pot. Reagan unbuckled her shoulder pads and dumped it on the floor. Charon took a seat in one of the chairs to get comfortable. He was out of shape from being cooped up. Left behind. He was sullen again. The smell of canned beans cooking on the hot pot caught his attention. He hadn’t eaten since before he left that morning. 

Reagan made him a can of beans, possibly a peace offering. Charon took it willingly with a grumble of a thanks. Reagan heated up her own can, lying down on the old mattress in waiting to eat. Charon sorts through his ammo. He had a drum left and a handful of shells stashed in his jacket pocket. Reagan sorts through her bag too, but not taking anything out to share what she had stashed away. She takes out a box of ammo and offers it to him. Charon wondered where she got a box of twenty shotgun shells from. 

It was quiet that night.

\---

Charon remembered how blistering hot it was that day. It burned his skin and the air was dry, evaporating sweat before it could cool down anyone’s body. It was a day that Erin decided they should be outside. Erin’s face was sunburnt and stained with clay from the Megaton soil. When he unzipped his vault suit to his waist to cool his torso, soon his thin shoulders were scorched from the sun. But it did not stop him from trying to fix the water pipe. Charon watched him struggle with the pipes from under the shade of the platform, resting against the beams.

Erin wiped the sweat from his forehead, taking off his cap to wave it at his face for a chance for a breeze. Everything in the town was breaking down. Fans rattling and losing their power, bulbs burning out, pipes leaking, and so forth. Erin volunteered himself to do what he could and so far, he's only managed to get to was the damned pipes. The sun had drained everyone of their energy and the smarter folks went inside. All day Erin had been stuck and fussing with the ancient pipe systems. 

The water pipes were doing a fantastic job of pumping purified water from the underground source, but all that hard work Erin made with his father wouldn't make much of a difference to anyone in the crater if the pipes leaked all the water out before it got to the holding tanks. Erin insisted to Charon that the leaks were an easy fix. They just had to simply weld on patches of scrap metal over weak joints and splits. If it had been like that, they would have gotten themselves the rest of the day off to hang out at the saloon under the fans, but the valve refused to turn the flow back on.

Erin sat up from the gritty dirt and glared at the pipe. He held tight to the wheel of the gate valve and twisted as much as he could. He grunted and nearly fell when his hands slipped loose from the wheel. Erin wasn’t strong. It was a miracle he was able to fire off rockets without ripping his own arms out of socket from the recoil. Charon refused to help do any heavy lifting out of brooding protest to work on a day like today when Erin could have waited for nightfall. Erin had pleaded with his big purple eyes, mimicking Dogmeat’s poor attempt to beg, but Charon was made from sterner material and Erin’s pleading didn’t work today.

"Righty-tighty, lefty-loosy? Right, Charon?" 

From somewhere behind him, under the shadow of a rusted shack, Erin heard Charon grunt.

"Alright... uhm, pass me the channel locks?" 

The ghoul sighed but obeyed. He stepped over Erin's tool box and the scattered tools carefully. Erin took the channel locks and tried to loosen the nut at the top. Erin pouted, sitting back down in the mud.

"I don't know what to tell him." 

"It is blocked.”

"But I told him that I could fix it."

"It cannot be fixed."

Erin sighed again, packing away his tools. This time Charon carried the tool box to help Erin give up and seek shelter in the saloon upstairs. They returned the tools to Moria’s counter. Charon ushered Erin out the door when Moria tried to spark up a long discussion about heatwaves from the sun and how it was amplified by greenhouse whatever the fuck. Erin got the message and left the supply with Charon. Old man Walter looked like he was going to break down when Erin brought him the bad news and Erin’s sappy heart couldn’t handle it and had to console the old man. Erin left with a promise to find a new part for the pipe.

Erin went left at the platform, the opposite direction of the saloon. Charon didn’t say anything, he only cared if they got out of the sun. Even the dog looked melted on the floor in front of the shop fan Erin bought from a salvage peddler. The ribbons tied to the fan guard flapped aggressively, trying to blow free, but there wasn’t anywhere for the stale air to go. Charon propped open the door to allow circulation. Erin came down the stairs with his pack and rocket launcher strapped to his back. Charon frowned, but picked up his own bag from the bookshelf.

“Oh, I’m actually going alone this time, Charon.”

Charon shook his head.

“It’ll be a quick trip.” Erin reassured, going to the fridge to grab a jug of water.

Charon glowered, shaking his head again. “I will go with you. That is what I am supposed to do, you know this.”

Erin sighed heavily and Charon tensed. He was tired of arguing with Erin about his contract and that sigh was an indicator the argument was going to come up again. Erin waked to him and placed a hand on Charon’s forearm. Erin made it a habit to touch him. To Charon’s own surprise, it didn’t take him long to allow him to touch him. Erin was just that trustworthy. Charon believed the kid didn’t have a bad bone in his lanky body. But Erin was clumsy, notoriously so. He got injured often. What if things got hairy and Erin was alone?

Erin looked distressed, the color of his eyes always seemed to darken when he got emotional. Charon used to think that his employer was dramatic, but he learned than Erin just took things to heart and felt his emotions very deeply. It was normal behavior in the vaults to be open but when it came to the wasteland it cold spell danger and open up chances of manipulation. Erin was manipulated a lot for being so generous and often robbed blind until Charon came along. It wasn’t just a requirement via contract, Charon felt that he unconditionally needed to be with Erin. He hated being left behind.

“Charon…” Erin mumbled, searching for some other way to say what he needed.

“I’m going.”

“You don’t have to though. You can stay here and hold down the fort.”

Charon knew Erin couldn’t understand. Charon couldn’t explain it without repeating himself from previous arguments, just like Erin couldn’t convince him to be more liberated. Charon already pushed things too far already, he already took chances that he normally wouldn’t have done before. He couldn’t explain that to Erin, at least not properly. Not like how he wanted. Charon never really had authority over himself. Charon could only scowl further. 

Erin never made direct orders. They way he gave orders were never serious and sounded like they were suggestions that Charon could make his own decisions with. Charon hated that. He trusted Erin. Erin could command him, and he would follow it to the tee without complaint. If he would only do it. If Charon annoyed him enough, Erin would cave in. It shouldn’t have to be this way. He shouldn’t have to argue with his contract holder to let him do his duty. Erin was delightful but he could be so infuriating.

“I hate this place. It is my duty to protect the contract holder.”

“Oh, damnit Charon, please?” Erin scrunched up his sunburnt nose, “I told you, I’m your employer. Geez, contract holder sounds so militant and nefarious.”

Charon shook his head again. If he spoke in a sterner voice, Erin would listen. “Erin, I do not like this. Reconsider...”

“Don't be such a curmudgeon. I'm coming back. I'm not going to be gone long, I promise. When I get back, I'll make you that udon I was telling you about and I promise you'll love it as much as you do me!” Erin walked away to the door way were Dogmeat had moved to enjoy the air flow. Erin knelt down and patted the mutt’s head and making kissing noises, “Take care of that worry-wart for me!”

“But if you are injured--” Charon started, but Erin waved his hand in the air. Charon gritted his teeth, he hated being interrupted.

“I’ll be fine!”

“Do not interrupt me again, Erin. My concerns are genuine. I need to go with you in the chance you are attacked.”

“Are all my lone wanderings going to start with an argument? Is it against the law to want to go somewhere by myself?” Erin stood up, adjusting his rocket on his back. He was getting annoyed, “You’re not coming with me this time. Stay here, help out if you can. I’ll be fine. Bye-bye, Charon.”

\---

Reagan was excited to see Rivet City. She had never seen anything like it before in her life. She stared up at the towering steel ship. She had read about the giant prewar ship in the Wasteland Survivor Guide Erin had delivered to her one year. It was large enough to house all its citizens in individual rooms and could fend off any attack made on it. The most developed and scientifically advanced of all cities in the Capitol. The guards did not like the way the two of them looked so Charon and Reagan were barred from entrance. Reagan’s outburst on the bridge didn’t help soothe their suspicions about her either. The guards locked the gate when she said they would all suffer rust-lung and she didn’t want to see inside anyways.

Charon led her to the metro station, it was the most direct route he knew with less chances of being turned around. When Erin first bought his contract, he was convinced that the vault kid was incompetent when it came to reading metro maps. Erin spent hours underground looking for the right exit. Charon was just curious how long it would take him until he broke down crying and asking Charon for guidance. That was awkward. 

Reagan was hesitant to go through the gates. She insisted she wasn’t claustrophobic as all her railways from home didn’t go deep underground nor under a massive river. She followed him in when they saw the silhouettes of Talon mercs ambling down the road from the Rivet City bridge. It was dark inside, a Nuka-Cola machine flickered, and old sickly lights barely provided enough to see debris on the floor. Reagan pushed the sunshades to rest on her head, tangling into her hair. Reagan didn’t like vaults because they were creepy, she didn’t like caves because the ground rumbled sometimes housed deathclaws, but metros was different kind of foreboding. 

The gate closed loudly behind them, the metal fencing rattling an echo down the tunnel. Anacostia Crossing was quiet as all underground dwellings. It was always quiet at first. The stench of the moldy air made her sneer. There would be water deeper in and possibly still irradiated and stagnate. There was a possibility she may find a good healthy mushroom growth or mold she could scrape up for ingredients. Reagan dug into her waist pack for her battery and lights. Charon stopped her before she could switch on the light.

“Not here.” 

“I can’t see in this light like you can.”

“You can see well enough. Just follow me.”

Reagan huffed, but stowed her battery away. She wanted the light to see with. She didn’t care if it would alert anything in the tunnels to come after them. At least she would be able to see what was coming before it got too close. Reagan adjusted her gauntlet, fidgeting with the straps. She would have to trust Charon to lead her through without walking into traps or mines.

“Look out for raiders. They got tags all over here.”

Charon looked over his shoulder. Reagan was pointing to the marks on the tile walls. He didn’t see any painted graffiti anywhere. He walked over to have a closer look. Reagan tapped her finger above the overflowing trashcan near the food dispenser. She traced out a chalk x drawn in the cracks. Charon had never noticed chalk lines or marks before. It made sense to him she would pick up raider cues he wouldn’t normally have noticed before. 

“I’ll teach you this. Marks like these are almost always made over trashcans. It’s sly here because it doesn’t warn regular wastelanders of raiders here because there ain’t any paint. This here… it means several things. This place is a good ambush spot. But its also dangerous. Hell, there’s probably ferals rooting round here.”

Charon nodded, “There are always raiders on the first level platform. There were feral ghouls, but Erin and I cleared them out.”

The closer they got to the platform music was heard. There was the smell of a trash fire. Charon stalked silently to the wooden panels blocking the way through. They could hear the feet scraping over the debris, someone kicked a tin can and it rolled across the floor. They all knew they weren’t alone on the platform. The gate had warned them of people coming down. Reagan tapped her fingers on the knuckles of her gauntlet, her shoulder pads brushed against the links in the fence.

Bullets sprayed out, hitting the ceiling above them. One of the raiders laughed out and hollered. Shadows passed from the fire and then a silhouette rushed past the fence into Charon’s line of fire. He fired off a shot and the raider screamed in agony, hitting the ground hard. A bloodied steel pipe rolled past Charon’s boots. The raiders pushed forward, advancing with fire power. Reagan was antsy to rush out of cover but waited until she had a clear signal. 

“Come outta there so we can shoot ya!”

Charon fired back, someone yelped out and feet raced back into cover. 

Reagan snorted, “Come back so we can shoot you, dick breath!”

“Go to hell!”

Reagan laughed, but no one else was. Her banter made them advance closer. The bullets hit the side of the wooden barrier making it rock and hit against their shoulders. Charon stood still, waiting but Reagan was excited, bouncing on her feet. Bullet broke through the barrier between Charon and Reagan. She flinched and laughed.

“Grenade.” Charon hissed, moving back from the barrier.

The both of them rushed back to the trashcan, kicking it over into the path. The wooden barrier exploded into shards, dust and trash blasted in every direction. Their laughter gave away their position as they came rushing through. Reagan snatched one out of the dust, slicing through his guts. The raider screamed. Charon marched past her, firing off his shotgun into the silhouettes in the cloud of dust. They didn’t use the cover correctly and Charon made sure they would pay for it. 

Charon ducked as a raider swung his knife, narrowly missing Charon’s head, ringing against the metal reinforcement of his shoulder armor. The raider’s bloodshot eyes were wide, and his dirty teeth were bared like an animal. His chems made him frenzied. Charon let his shotgun drop out of his hands, the shoulder strap slinging it behind his hip. He reached out for the knife when the raider thrust forward. His sloppy, wild attack was just embarrassing to see. Charon disarmed him and thrust the knife under the raider’s jaw. The raider tensed, eyes nearly bugged out of his skull, trying to scream but unable to open his mouth. 

Reagan raced by Charon, she had seen the two in the ticket booth struggling to reload their guns. Her claw cut into them, one fell on the ground when he slipped on the gushing blood and crawled out of the booth. Reagan left the one in the booth to bleed out, rushing for the other. He bashed the but of his pistol into her temple and cried out in distain when it didn’t even phase her. Reagan decked him back with her fist, knocking him back down.

“You crazy bitch!”

Charon ignored Reagan’s skirmish with the raider on the floor, heading to the broken escalators. He wiped blood from his hands on his pants leg and wished for a cigarette. He patted down his pockets and discovered no packets, just his crumbled matchbook in his jacket pocket. He heard a hallow crack and the raider’s whine was silenced. Reagan rushed to catch up with him, nearly tripping down the steps. In her hands were bottles of Nuka-Cola. 

“You good?” She asked, meeting him on the tracks. She offered him on of the bottles.

Charon declined the soda, still grumbling about forgetting his cigarettes in Megaton. He swore he put them in his pocket before he left but imagined them gathering dust on the table in the empty shack. Reagan pocketed the cap and took a long gulp of Nuka-Cola. She grimaced and stuck her tongue out at the bitter taste. 

The rest of the walk on the tracks was quiet, just their footsteps echoing ahead of them. Reagan saw the old decaying bodies littering the tracks, it was hard to tell with feral ghouls how long they had been left out. They would always gather in dark and dank places, Reagan never understood why, and it just seemed impolite to ask. She made her own assumptions having to do with the sun or maybe they were exiled by other ghouls that didn’t have the heart to put their friend out of their misery.

Charon pushed open the maintenance door to the museum station. Reagan followed him, kicking aside a barrel. It rolled past Charon. Reagan tossed the empty bottle back on the tracks and the door slide closed behind them. Everything was picked clean by scavers, anything of worth that want nailed down had been taken. She tried to talk to Charon again, but he wasn’t answering. Reagan wanted to dig through the ammo boxes for any hidden goodies, but Charon wasn’t going to slow down to allow her time.

Reagan marched behind him. She didn’t find any mushrooms or mold and there weren’t any feral ghouls. When they reached the next platform to the museum, there weren’t even raiders there either. For Regan it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, but she really would have liked to have something interesting happen on this trip. 

“You know, last time I saw Erin, we fought.” Reagan opened the other Nuka-Cola, “He wanted me to move to Megaton. I didn’t want to live in that shit hole, but Erin thought it was a nice place. Its probably because he had friends there. But we still kept in touch.”

Charon kept to himself, hoping his silence would make her shut up. He was thinking about a cigarette, hoping Willow didn’t leave her post to go on a patrol or on break. Reagan kicked a tin can past him. It loudly slid across the floor and bounced off the wall. He frowned. There wasn’t any activity in this section, but he still would have preferred her to be quiet. 

“He can’t stay alone too long. I knew about Butch, but he never said anything about you.”

Reagan wiped her face with a rag from her pack, dabbing up the raider blood. She’s moved to walk at his side. Charon didn’t like the way she was glancing at him. He didn’t like the direction her monologue was going in. He afforded her a swift glare, but he knew that wasn’t going to shut her up. Reagan placed the rag on her shoulder, taking another sip of the cola.

“And you didn’t say he was your friend. But you work for him, right?” Reagan’s rhetorical question echoed. She narrowed her eyes, down in the darkness of the tunnels they were almost brown. “You shouldn’t care about your boss that much to go hunt him down unless, like, he’s paying you a shit ton of cap. Or you guys are together and you ain’t telling me the whole story.”

Charon stopped and glowered at her. Reagan grinned.

“Am I getting somewhere?”

“I told you I did not want to play twenty questions with you. Do you remember that?”

Reagan nodded, “I think a lot and you can’t do anything about it.”

“You are mistaken, smoothskin.”

Reagan raised her scarred eyebrow, “Like how? You gunna beat me or some shit? Ha! Typical. You’re gunna need me, Charon, like it or not. I’m useful.”

“I can leave you behind. I do not need you to find Erin.”

Reagan smirked, her chipped teeth biting her bottom lip. It annoyed Charon further, so he walked off. Reagan was still following him at his side, moving closer. She thought of something amusing and chuckled to herself. The moldy air was cut by a stale breeze from the tunnel exit. It would have been a refreshing breath of air from the mold, but the smell of gore was twisted into the gust. Charon was momentarily distracted.

“I’ve got information on Erin that you’re gunna want.”

Charon scoffed, “Like what?” 

“Noise!” A gruff voice of a super mutant called out before Reagan could answer.

Charon and Reagan quickly ducked behind a broken Nuka-Cola machine. Charon gave Reagan a look. He wasn’t finished. Reagan had a grenade in her hand. Super mutants rush down the tunnel, looking for the source of voices. Charon and Reagan stepped out at the same time. She tosses the grenade at their feet. When it blows up, the blast takes off the legs of the unsuspecting mutant. The others are stunned, damaged by the blast. Charon marches forward, shotgun blasting. The mutants behind the others rush past their brothers to attack, Charon blasts one, Reagan has his back and slices into the others.

Lights flicker from the damaged connections, but the light from the tunnel exit back lights the mutants, blood splashes over the walls and makes the floor slick. Mutants fire back but are disoriented by Reagan’s hit and runs, some tripping over piles of gore-bags to reach for her. Some shoot other mutants in confusion, creating chaos. Charon shoves a mutant aside, and another’s head explodes like a rotten melon. Reagan is ahead of him now; the straps of her gauntlet were damaged. She holding a nail board under her arm while the mutant was trying to pull it back. She kicks at its leg and it roars in pain, falling to a knee. She dodges a swing and headbutts the mutant. It falls back on the floor.

The tunnel falls silent and they stand shoulder to shoulder in front of the grate door of the tunnel. Charon pulls open the sliding gate. They reach fresh air, they have reached the base of the stairs. The yellow sky slowly pushes it’s scattered clouds by without concern of the life below. They look to one another. She looked a mess; mutant blood stained her forehead and she spits out blood. Her cheeks are red, she takes deep breath and laughs. He sighs, blood soaked through to his shirt and he gained a few bruises. When was the last time he had such a rush in a firefight? Mowing over his enemies? Reagan rubs her brow, smearing the mutant blood and pushes her elbow playfully against his. His mind still reeling in its high from the combat.

"You good?" 

“Hello, Charon! You got another tourist?”

They looked up the stairs. Willow didn’t change since the last time Charon saw her. Willow’s laser rifle rested on her shoulder and came to investigate the commotion below. The grenade must have shocked her. Her blue eyes did appear to be more clouded this time. Charon ascended the stairs with Reagan in quick pursuit. Of all the ghouls in Underworld, Willow had been the only one that didn’t have a problem with. He had a lot of respect for her. She also didn’t mind sharing cigarettes. Needless to say, Charon was actually glad to see her handing out a packet.

Willow waited for Charon to light his cigarette. She was staring at the smoothskin that followed him out of the tunnel. Underworld knew about Charon’s contract. Ahzrukhal practically bragged about it. They knew how it worked and they knew what Charon was capable of. Willow was worried for Charon. Where was Erin? Who was this smoothskin dressed like a raider and a mess? She wondered if this was Charon’s new contract holder. Charon shook the match out and blew smoke to the wind. He saw the concern look on her face.

“Have you seen Erin?” Charon asked.

Willow let out a sigh of relief, “I was worried for a moment.”

“Hi! I’m Reagan.” She introduced herself loudly, “How’d you know I’m not from around here?”

“That accent was a dead giveaway.” Willow smiled shyly when Reagan held out her hand to the ghoul. Willow looked to Charon, noticing his eyes roll. Willow softly shook Reagan’s hand. “I’m Willow. I’m the sentry to Underworld.”

“It’s just you out here? There’s green skins nearby.” Reagan leaned against the edge of the railing, “You must be a good shot with that laser rifle.”

“Oh, we don’t really worry about them. They don’t bother us. Only trouble we’ve had so far was with the Brotherhood.”

“There’s power armors here?”

“Willow,” Charon interrupted, “Have you seen Erin?”

“Yes, actually. He was here last month. He stayed for a week or so at Carol’s place.”

“Thank you.”

Reagan said good bye to Willow with a wave of her fingers on her broken gauntlet and followed Charon into the barricaded doors to the Museum of History.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if it seems rushed, it is because YES I'm also trying not to rush myself to get to things i have ALREADY written  
> I gotta be a good writer and build shit okay. I try to post at least 10 pages to provide reading material.  
> let me know opinions.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol and Greta fuss over Reagan and Charon gets to eat.  
> Underworld was renovated and now you can take a shower.  
> Charon doesn't know he can be jealous. Reagan has some juicy information.

Holy fuck! Charon look at the size of this fuckin gecko! And that weird lookin bighorner!”

Reagan rushed past Charon to the fallen bones of the dinosaur, trying to crawl into its boney maw. Her dirty fingernails scratched at the teeth and the eye sockets. She knocked on several teeth until she found a suitable one and with a tight grip, began to loosen one of the teeth. The bonding agent the curators used to keep the bones together worked even after the apocalypse and the teeth would not come free. 

“What are you doing?”

“I want a tooth! No one is gunna believe this shit unless I bring it back as proof.” Reagan said quickly, taking a screwdriver from her pack, jamming it into the gap.

Charon ignored her struggle, leaving her to go through the Underworld exhibit doors. Reagan didn’t take long to catch up. Her eyebrows raised high on her dirty forehead when she saw the ghouls. Some lounged around near the old statues. She never seen so many ghouls in one place before. Some got up and immediately went into other rooms, not wanting to be seen while some just stopped their conversations to stare at them. She realized they were mainly gawking at her.

She followed Charon closely upstairs, trying to smile politely, but feeling completely awkward. She had never been stared at like this before. She didn’t know how to react to it. They must not get a lot of smoothskins here. More ghouls upstairs halted, quickly stepping aside from Charon’s terrifying presence. They are muttering to quietly to themselves now for Reagan to eavesdrop. Charon sneers at a ghoul that almost stumbled into him in a stupor. The ghoul recoiled quick out of his path. It made Reagan snicker.

On the balcony above the statue, a female ghoul leaned smoking a cigarette. She scowled in their direction, smoothing the front of her dirty prewar dress. It was the dirtiest scowl that Reagan had ever been under in ages. It reminded her vague of the way her great aunt used to look at her when she told her that she didn’t want to follow traditions. It was a disappointing look and despising. Charon had noticed her but didn’t say anything. Reagan averted her gaze and tapped on Charon’s elbow. He slapped her hand away.

“Hey, Charon, why are they all looking at us like that?”

“They are staring at you.”

Reagan shivered, “Is she glaring at me too? What did I do to her?”

“That one is meant for me.”

“Yikes! What did you do?”

Charon opens the door with a sign labeled Carol’s Place. There are painted pictures of flowers and smiling faces around the name. It seemed out of place with the macabre theme of the exhibit. The tables inside were almost filled with unsuspecting ghouls enjoying a drink with their friends, some were having their meals. Another female ghoul wearing a prewar sundress was walking between the tables, conversating with her customers. It was an uplifting environment, until Charon and Reagan came in, shutting the door behind them.

The customers one by one hurriedly left their tables to leave out the second exit in the next room. The sounds of chairs scraping and rushing footsteps was loud enough to drain out the leisurely volume of the radio on the counter. Soon only one surprised ghoul in a sundress was left behind. She clutches her dishrag tightly to her chest, looking past Charon to Reagan. Reagan felt sorry for her. Her cloudy eyes shift from her to Charon and she quickly changed her tone, but the nervousness couldn’t be so easily disguised. She tosses the dish rag to the counter and dusts her hands.

“I didn’t expect to see you back so soon, Charon. Welcome!” Reagan kept detecting that ghouls were wanting to ask a question but didn’t have the courage to ask it. 

“Reagan is paying for a night, Carol. We will be leaving as soon as we are able to.” Charon gestured to Reagan next to him. He sounded very polite and it took Reagan off guard. She smiled awkwardly again.

Carol nodded, pressing her hands together. “Charon you know that you can always stay for free,” her eyes look to Reagan, “And so can the smoothskin.”

The door behind them opened and the ghoul in the pink dress marched in from her smoke break. She still looked moody. Charon ignored her just like he ignored Reagan most of the time. She moved past both of them to stand next to Carol protectively, crossing her arms. Carol smiled happily to her.

“Look, Greta dear, Charon is staying, and he’s brought a friend.”

Greta scoffed, “He’s still a big discourteous bastard. Can’t you introduce your company to us? What is the matter with you?”

“I’m Reagan! Erin told me a lot about this place, but I’ve never been out this far before. He had told me this is the best place to come for pies.”

Carol gave a genuine smile and happiness poured into her. Even Greta’s attitude seemed a little smoother round the edges. Reagan felt more at ease. Erin really did tell her about Carol and Greta, but he didn’t go into much detail because while he was trying to tell her of his adventures Reagan was trying to undress him. Reagan saw a half-eaten pie on an abandoned table and knew to always complement a chief’s cooking. She needed to make a good impression.

“She is Erin’s girlfriend or something.” Charon explained, moving plates to clear a spot for him to sit.

Reagan puffed and put her hands on her hips. Her outburst took Charon by surprise. “Girlfriend! I ain’t one’s girlfriend, Charon. I belong to no man. Maybe we rolled around a few times but that don’t mean I’m his.”

Carol touched her cheek, aghast but coyly hiding a smile behind her palm. Greta clapped her hands together and laughed. She immediately offered to help them settle in the next room. Charon grumbled about behind chastised and the ghouls instantly taking a strong liking to Reagan. He knew that Reagan had them wrapped around her finger and it could prove to be troublesome on the future. Carol retrieved him a menu and a cold beer to his table.

In the next room, beds were sectioned off with privacy dividers made of mismatch curtains and bed sheets. Reagan unbuckled her shoulder pads, dropping it on the floor unceremoniously, tossing her gauntlet on top the footlocker and tossing her pack onto the made bed. She felt exhausted and the allure of crawling into a clean bed was so enticing. She can just barely hear Charon and Carol talking in the next room and wanted to listen in, curious as to what Charon would normally talk about or if he was capable of processing conversations in that thick skull of his. He seemed to lack any emotional depth and she was growing tired of it one-way conversations. Only way she could get more than a few sentences from him is when he was chewing her ass or criticizing anything she did.  
Reagan rolled her eyes. How did Erin get anywhere with Charon? Erin had more charisma and such an easy-going guy. Reagan could scarcely pretend to be half of that without pissing someone off for being too conceited. Greta fluffed up the pillow to make the bed more comfortable and turned on the little lamp on the bedside table. 

“Well, if you need anything let me or Carol know. There’s a shower room down stairs but you’ll need a key from Winthrop to get in. I think his fee is still just a few caps.” Greta explained. She dusted off the dirt on the bed from Reagan’s pack but careful not to touch. 

“You guys got plumbing down here?”

“Just because we are ghouls doesn’t mean we have to smell as bad as we look!”

Reagan laughed, patting Greta’s arm, “Oh, darlin, I’m just relieved, not being rude.”

Greta narrowed her eyes, but calmed down, “Need anything washed?”

“Thanks, if you don’t mind.”

Reagan stripped out of her clothes, dropping them into Greta’s apron. She bundled up the dirty clothes and sighed at Reagan’s freckles across her body. Reagan didn’t withdrawal in disgust when Greta touched Reagan’s dirty back. She lifted up her sunshades, looked down at the curious ghoul and Reagan smiled, pointing out a long scar up her shoulder to the side of her neck. 

Greta followed the lines torn through her smooth flesh and the old healed wounds from her battles. They were distracting from the millions of speckled freckles over Reagan’s cooper skin. In the summer they must grow darker and more pronounced. Greta wished she had a full head of hair like the smoothskin. Of all the damage ghoulification did to her body, loosing her thick locks had been the worst but had been to prideful to wear a wig like Snowflake. Carol insisted she loved her even without hair.

“Look at this gnarly shit. I got this from my first deathclaw hunt.” Reagan boasted, “If you didn’t come out of the canyons with at least one scar then why even go in?”

“Why did you hunt deathclaws? That’s too dangerous.”

Reagan pulled her oversized sackcloth shirt over her head and tugging on her grey sweat pants from a prewar pajama set. She pointed to the gauntlet with a reminiscing smile. Greta looked at the nasty thing with a sneer. It was still covered in mutant blood and had pieces of flesh or some type of gore under the claw beds staining the surface of the footlocker. Greta was thankful for the safety of Underworld. She never wanted to go out into the wasteland again.

“Are you a raider?”

Reagan raised an eyebrow, “What? No. No, ma’am. I’ve grown outta that.”

“I just assumed. You dress like one.” Greta nodded towards the black armor on the floor, “You have this rough look.”

“Yeah, I keep getting that.” Reagan snorted through her nose. “Sorry to disappoint you Greta.”

“Oh, I’m really not. It’s Reagan, right?” Reagan nodded with a smile, “Does Charon work for you?”

Now Reagan had to laugh at that, shaking her head incredulously. Greta nodded her head once and seemed to like that answer. She would rather it be a no, they like Erin. Reagan calmed down and rubbed her face, shaking her head. Her outburst had paused the conversation next door, but it picked back up. Greta gave her a side glance, trying to decide on her thoughts on Reagan. She didn’t hate her but didn’t have the smoothskin quite figured out. Especially the mystery as to why Charon would travel with her. Or why anyone would willingly travel with Charon to begin with. Reagan smiled at Greta, brushing past her to leave the little makeshift room. Reagan liked Greta. The ghoul was to the point.

Reagan comes into the diner after Greta left from the side exit with the dirty clothing. Carol is sitting at the table across from Charon, she’s talking low to him. It must be sensitive information because Carol drops the subject when she notices Reagan. Carol stands up and politely welcomes her back offering the menu Charon had pushed to the side. Reagan took the seat offered to her across from the Charon. He’s already done with his brahmin steak and side of sliced carrots. He drinks the last of his beer and leaves the table. Reagan furrowed her brow when he leaves the diner. Reagan settles on glaring at the menu. 

Charon sets his bag down on the mattress across the room from hers. Reagan was now loudly talking in the next room. Carol served her a bowl of preheated stew Greta has returned and the who ghouls seem attached to hear what Reagan had to say next. It was a story related to her scars she was so proud of. She called it her retelling of deathclaw hunting. She went as far as mimicking the roar the deathclaw make before it attacks. It was a terrible reenactment. But it made the girls laugh.

Charon removes the heavy plating and shrugs off his jacket from his sore shoulders. He couldn't understand why Erin would consider associating himself with a raider. Erin was a do-gooder and prized justice above all things, why would he want to shack up with some raider scum? Reagan, from what he learned on their walk to Underworld, she was rude, filthy, tried to rob a victim, vulgar and was all around out of control. She didn’t look like the type of person to be generous. She claimed to want to find Erin out of concern for him, but Charon suspected he wanted his caps owed to her.

But as he peaked around the privacy dividers, Reagan was chatting it up with Greta and Carol. All there of them giggling and petting one another’s arms. The ghouls inquired about her hair and Reagan enjoyed the attention, allowing Greta to run her boney fingers through the curly black mohawk. She pretended to be polite and kind, though she still swore and had no table manners. She talked with her mouthful and picked food off the table to eat when it fell off her fork. As expected from someone who lived in the wasteland their whole lives. Maybe Erin falls fast for women and sees Reagan through rose colored glasses? Erin kept trying to find good qualities in him, why not imagined ones in a mess like Reagan also?

Charon dropped his plate armor on the tile floor. No in looks to him, too engrossed in a story Reagan is telling them involving Erin. Carol gasped and Greta giggled, Charon decided he didn't want to know this story either. They don't even notice him leave. He goes down stairs, there’s less ghouls out, probably hiding for the day. He wanted to see about this new washroom that Carol boasted on about. She said she had been so proud of Erin for succeeding in Project Purity. She was also proud of Winthrop’s resourcefulness to connect the water pipes down to be used now that the plant had been cleansed. 

Cerberus hovered past, raking out a forceful greeting followed with an insult. It was a shock that the Mr. Gutsy robot still had not malfunctioned and killed everyone in Underworld as of yet. Charon saw Barrows and Winthrop before they saw him. They were standing near the offices and bathrooms, engaged in a conversation. Charon had hoped he could avoid more attention, but he would need to talk to Winthrop to rent a shower since he wasn’t a citizen of Underworld. Doctor Barrows cleared his throat and nodded in form of a hello.

“Evening, Charon.” Winthrop rasped.

“Are the showers still on?”

“Five caps.”

It was cheaper than Charon had expected. He dug out the amount from his front pocket and dropped them into the ghoul’s outstretched hand. Winthrop pushed the caps around in his scraped palms then pulled the chain from around his neck, passing the key to Charon in exchange. Barrows cleared his throat and stepped up next to Winthrop, more or less blocking Charon’s path to the showers. Charon grumbles, peering down at the ghoul. He already knows what will be said. Barrows played part of an unofficial mayor and his word carried weight in the rare meetings held in the lobby near the statue but being a doctor was his main interest.

"That smoothskin you came in with… are we gunna have to expect trouble from her?" 

Charon did not answer him. 

"We all appreciate how you kept this place safe and helped Quinn do supply runs, but you know we cannot tolerate raiders and the ilk taking haven in Underworld. There is also no need for you to intimidate everyone else. This is a place of peace from the outside world. If you don’t stop your antisocial behavior or I’ll have to ask that you leave. "

"Are you going to personally remove me?" Charon growls as mildly as he could. 

The threat was very weak, Barrows wasn't used to threatening anyone, especially Charon, but he understood the caution. Winthrop stood awkwardly, not sure how to take Barrow’s side or if he should stay out of it all together. Barrows inhaled and brushed off the apprehension and crossed his arms over his scrubs. 

"Say, I could be." 

Charon held back a laugh, but Barrow saw it on his face. Charon was unconvinced. He shoves past Winthrop you the showers. Barrow has gotten bolder since he’s last been around Underworld. Barrows never approached him before. Perhaps Barrows was trying to take charge of an actual mayor now instead of a figurehead.  
The public bathrooms had been converted into showers. Each stall had been gutted and refurbished with a seat, a rack and a showerhead. The center of the room was divided with a long sheet of plastic, presumably for more privacy. The area he stood in was sectioned off as well by a half torn-down wall for room. They used this area for laundry, offering clean towels and to turn in used towels to be cleaned. He picked up the largest one and walked down the aisle. One of the stalls in the back was closed and the water was running, steam raising to the cork ceiling. Another was dripping on its own with a broken stall door hanging on one hinge. 

He chose the largest stall at the very back that he could move around in without bumping his elbows, though it lacked a whole door. He placed his folded clothes and the towel on the rack near the curtain. Charon hung the dirty undershirt over the stall door, cranking on the water. The pipes howled and rattled before the water spewed out. It was icy at first and he withdrew with a hiss. Eventually warmed to the touch and was safe to stand under. The water still had a sour odor but lacked any radiation. It could be treated with minerals, but he doubts Winthrop would go that far. 

The water wasn’t hot still, but warm enough to help sooth his muscles enough for him to massage the tense knots out if his shoulders without unnecessary ache. He scrubbed his body with the soap Carol gave him, watching the murky water rush into the drains. Megaton lacked amenities like showers, there were public bathrooms and sometimes the bathtub in the shack worked. This was a nice reprieve from his stressful day. Though short lived when the door opens, causing him to flinch he thinks he can almost hear Ahzrukhal. Charon shakes his head. He hated coming back to Underworld. 

Charon took down the shirt and scrubbed the stains with the soap, hoping that the gore didn’t stain too deeply into the fabric. He only brought a one other shirt to replace this one if it was too damaged. Greta told him if the soap didn’t bring it up, she could try her home-made detergent that may or may not disintegrate the shirt. He didn’t want to take that chance.

A cheery tune of whistling echoes from the other side of the plastic curtain he stiffens. He turns over his shoulder as Reagan marches by topless, straight for the opposite shower wall. He quickly turns away, aggressively ringing out the water from his shirt and cutting off the shower. He curses himself for leaving the towel out on the rack next to his clothes. He prayed Reagan wouldn’t peek over the curtain to see who else shared the showers as he quickly dried off. As he hurried out, he heard her laughing.

\--- 

Charon buys another meal, this time it’s the stew Carol keeps shoveling into bowls for everyone. It’s very watered down. Charon wondered if there was a shortage of goods coming in. He didn’t have the chance to go to Underworld Outfitters to see the valuable provisions and ammunition. Clearly Carol needed new stock and soon. However, she did have a steady supply of beer she was happy to serve him, Greta was the only one who didn’t want to give him too much.

Charon stretches out his leg, leaning back in the chair. Trying to relax as best he could here. Anywhere in Underworld had come bitter memory connected to it that kept rising up to the surface to replay in his head. Greta serves him another bowl. Carol had seasoned the broth with spices to compete with the lack of actual ingredients. Carol took a seat next to him and asked again about Erin. Charon grumbles to himself. He hated repeating himself and Carol give the impression she was becoming more forgetful. After all, she was much older than anyone in Underworld.

Oddly enough, Reagan came to his rescue then. She smells very clean, reminding him of the showers. Her dark hair was curly, clean from the motor oil she straightened it with. Grime was gone from her face, showing she had a lot more freckles across her nose and cheeks he hadn’t noticed before. He didn’t notice things too closely when it came to Reagan, but he happened to notice then. He also noticed the glint in her eye when she stared at him wearing his spare tank top. She took a seat across from Charon and touched Carol’s arm reassuringly and invited Great to sit with them.

"Erin's goddamn running round doing his weird ass gallivanting! I'm helping Charon track him down. Two heads are better than one." 

Carol looks relived. Charon is quiet, still not speaking to anyone. Greta brings Reagan a beer also after she declined another bowl of stew. She was still full of stew from last time and then called Charon a fat ass, off handedly, of course. Charon wasn’t sure how that was possible considering there wasn’t much of anything to eat in it. He wanted to order another steak but didn’t want to wait for Carol to heat up the grill to make it. Carol smiled sweetly to Charon, appearing very grandmotherly. Greta kept her leer in sheer contrast.

"I'm glad you're doing such a wonderful job looking after our Erin. He's such an angel." 

The old ghoul means well, but Reagan laughs and nods her head. Charon opens the bottle cap with his hands and drops the cap on the table. Greta’s hands quickly snatched it up. Charon notices Reagan staring over his shoulder, and he nearly looks over in habit. But she’s staring out the open doors, and across the balcony to the other side. One of her eyes squints and she bits at the inside of her lip. Reagan pats Greta’s hand.

"What's that over there?" 

“Other ghouls live there now.”

“Oh, there! We moved the beds there for the residents to have more room. Thanks to Charon."

"Yeah, thanks for Charon blasting Ahzrukhal face off so we can have a proper living space." Greta says. 

“Hahaha, who comes up with these names?”

Charon downs the beer in two gulps, and it makes Greta let out a snide laugh, declaring last call. Charon took a bottle of beer with him anyways. Carol retired to her corner of the diner to prepare for bed after Charon and Reagan returned to the next room where the beds were rented. Greta shut the doors behind them to section off the diner. They can hear the ghouls giggling to themselves. To them, Reagan was an absolutely delightful.

Charon slides shuts the divider. The springs in the mattress squeak when he sat down, sagging under his weight. Above him his damp shirt was drying on the vents, sending a pleasant stream of cool air down on him. Charon takes a swig and sets his beer on the floor at his feet, tugging off his boots. His shotgun is resting in the corner where he left it. He slides into the bed, stretching out his body. His feet hang over the edge of the metal frame. It was comfortable as he can get. He stares at the ceiling, arm tucked behind his head. Drinking his beer in silent reflection of the day.

Across from him Reagan has her lamp on. Reagan shoves her things onto the floor and falls into her bed, it also squeaks in distress. She rolls over in bed, picking up her now cleaned gauntlet from the side table. She takes apart the brace to tear out the ripped straps, tossing them to the floor. She digs around in her pack on the floor until she finds the leather belt she purchased from the caravan and loops it through the brace, screwing tight the connection to hold it tight. 

“Charon!” Reagan hissed out in whisper from the other side of the room.

Charon shuts his eyes tightly and grumbles.

“I talked to your sentry friend about Erin…”

Charon was surprised that she ventured outside the diner, “Willow said Erin came into Underworld.”

“He was just in the neighborhood. You talked to Carol and Greta and I’ll bet you caps they didn’t know squat or that he was even looking for anything.”

Charon sets down the empty beer bottle. He didn’t have the chance to ask around. He wanted to rest for the day. He speaks up lowly, "Did you talk to anyone else?" 

“Everyone kept running from me. I don’t get it. I’m not that scary.” Reagan complained, “Anyways, Willow said he would talk with the power armors but would be back before nightfall. This was two days in a row, then he left. After that, they been pushing on her patrols real hard. Said they opened fire more often just because she was standing for far in the open. She said he went out with some ghoul named Quinn, but Quinn came back shot and he was alone. She didn’t see where he went.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Controversial radiation exposure. The Brotherhood are bastards.  
> Charon is an asshole at the local shops. Quid pro quo, babe.  
> You kids ever been an accomplice to a kidnapping?

“He will need another dose of radiation if he doesn’t recover this time.” 

Nurse Graves took note on her clipboard, agreeing with Doctor Barrows’ decision. Almost. She already gave her debate about the amounts of radiation from the pair of glowing ones behind the protective glass. When Barrows wasn’t neck deep in his research, he was pushing the boundaries on how much radiation to give to ghouls before they would start showing signs of madness instead of trying to reverse it. His argument was to understand how it affected ghouls before he could understand to reverse it. The process provided a speedy recovery for many injures, but she wasn’t sure they would help Quinn make a full recovery.

It was not a case of mistaken identity for a roaming feral. The Brotherhood knew of Underworld and could recognize Quinn. They even traded through the ghoul a handful of times, but something changed drastically. Now they would open fire if anyone went too far and refused to be hailed over radio. Then they attacked Quinn. Willow had reported she fired off warning shots to make them rush to cover. Quinn had been lucky the attack wasn’t made by Paladins. But then, at least Paladins would have shot him in the head.

Quinn recently revived from his medically reduced coma and occasionally woke to speak, though not able to identify where he was or what had happened to him. The process was still too slow for Barrows. He wanted to try one more dose of radiation, but it could mean there was a chance of loosing their only contact to the outside world. Since he had been in the infirmary, supplies had begun to dwindle for everyone. Underworld depended on Quinn to bring in resources and soon they would have nothing. Quinn needed to heal.

Graves argued it could do more harm. How much radiation expose did it take for a ghoul to turn feral? Was Barrows willing to sacrifice Quinn to find this out? There were already more feral ghouls in the other sections of the museum than the population remaining in Underworld and seemed like more were disappearing from Underworld. It frightened Graves. What if the ferals escaped the front entrance and attacked the Brotherhood? What if they sent in Paladins to exterminate them?

Doctor Barrows looked up from his clipboard when Nurse Graves touched his arm. The doors open and in came Charon and the smoothskin. Barrows frowned. Nothing looked wrong with either of them, the wrap on Charon’s arm was already replaced by the smoothskin, clean and organized. Barrows prepared himself by rehearsing how to turn them away in his head. He didn’t have supplies to provide them. He didn’t have enough for his patients to use. Please go away.

“Stop! Please, wait there!” Nurse Graves called out, signaling them to stop, “This area is heavily radiated.”

The smoothskin stepped back obediently, stepping behind the door. She crossed her arms over the baggy shirt and pouted through the murky window. Charon did not stop and marched past the nurse who rushed around to try to block his path. Barrows placed his clipboard at his patient’s feet.

“What are you doing here?” Barrows demanded.

“Quinn is the only one who was last in contact with Erin. I must speak with him.”

“Does he look like he’s in a state to talk about anything?”

“Not particularly.”

Quinn’s face looked shattered and his jaw was framed shut where the doctor had tried to reconstruct his bone structure. His face looked like mashed guts. His limbs were in casts and that was just from what Charon could plainly see. When Charon had went back to speak to Willow, Quinn had been shot multiple times and beaten with batons. Her account of the Brotherhood had acted in malice. And it showed. 

“I can wait until he wakes.”

“No, you won’t!” Barrows snapped, waving Charon away, “If you want to help that badly then go deal with the Brotherhood and see if they’ll be as helpful!”

Charon and Reagan left the Chop Shop with less information as they did before. Charon was tense. Did Erin get involved in a firefight? Was he injured as well somewhere? They had gone in the wrong direction, progressed nowhere. When they returned to the diner, more ghouls had gathered to eat breakfast. Carol had their plates waiting. Charon forced himself to eat.

\---

Tulip woke early that day, enjoyed a nice breakfast at Carol’s Place and got to see the new smoothskin everyone had been talking about. Their description of her was correct. Charon was working with raiders afterall. Today was a braver day, and hunger outweighed people’s fear of Charon so she wasn’t alone at breakfast. The duo thankfully kept to themselves in the back of the diner sipping on the strong coffee Greta brewed before they woke. As long as they were away from the other ghouls everyone could coexist. The smoothskin was loud and it looked like Charon was the verge of choking her.

Nothing in life was out of the ordinary for Tulip anymore. She stopped to talk to Winthrop about the vents rattling again and to say good morning to Patchwork. He liked to tell her about his dreams, and she liked to listen because it was entertaining. She eventually strolled back to her humble store, resorting things on the shelves that were a smidge out of line with he others. She dusted off her counter and counted her caps. They weren’t as much as she was used to getting in since there weren’t anymore shipments coming to in anymore. She was starting to see Underworld Outfitters suffer. 

Tulip took her worn prewar book from under the counter and turned to her saved page. She usually didn’t dog-ear the pages, but she lost her bookmark somewhere and was unable to find it. So, it became another bad habit of hers. In this section, Dante and Virgil traveled to a bog where the trees were made of people who had killed themselves. Tulip wasn’t religious and knew the book was written by a man going through a midlife crisis thousands of years ago, but she still wondered if she traveled in Dante’s steps of how many woeful trees would be friends she knew. That’s when her store door opened. The little bell rang. 

“Store isn’t open yet.” She called out without looking up. Nothing could be that important.

“I know.”

Tulip looked up so fast the tendon in her neck pinched. She flinched and quickly shut her book. She didn’t expect to see Charon in her store. She had nothing of worth to sell to him or really anyone in Underworld. Even before he closed the distance from the door to her counter in a couple of steps, he towered over her still. Tulip gulped and glanced to the door. Why did he locked it behind him?

“I have questions about Quinn’s last supply run.”

Tulip had been devastated when Willow drug Quinn’s beaten body into Underworld. She had thought he was dead at first with all the blood pouring out of him, but his rattling breathing meant he still clung to an edge of the living. After the shock and realization of what happened came the worry. Who would take his place to retrieve supplies? Not Tulip. She knew she was a coward. Not Willow, they needed a sentry to warn them. No one was willing to step up. They were too terrified. If Charon was still here in the 9th Circle, could he have been ordered then by Ahzrukhal to go?

Tulip gaped, not forming words. Then a bitterness rose up and she crossed her arms. “Why do you even care?”

Charon hummed, shaking his head. “Tulip. Do not be stupid. He was the last one to see Erin.”

“I thought the smoothskin sold you off to that raider.”

“Do not stray off topic.”

Tulip tried to look fearless. She was frightened of Charon. Ahzrukhal sent him once to bully her. She was told to decide between discounting her prices or giving Ahzrukhal a cut of her profits. She had been new to Underworld and looking to carve out a life here in safety. She declined at first. The discount wasn’t a fair amount and she needed the caps. She was alone and had no one to turn to for assistance.

“Get out, I have a business to run.”

“No one is coming in to buy from you.”

Tulip sulked, her shoulders lowering. He was right about that, but she didn’t want to have to hear the truth. It wasn’t the first time he told her that either. When she first declined the ultimatum Ahzrukhal had sent Charon back to promise her life would be very difficult if she made his boss pay full price. And so, he trashed all her supplies and prevented anyone from coming in to buy from her. She wasn’t able to make payments on the rented space and she had to agree or lose her store. She was coerced to accept the terms.

Ahzrukhal wasn’t here anymore. Erin would never allow Charon to do this. If Doctor Barrows knew what was happening! Tulip stood her ground despite the stubborn tears rising in her eyes. She shook her head. The bell rings again, and the door springs back to hit the person trying to squeeze in. They both watched Reagan bat the door away with her hand, pushing a bobby pin back into her oiled hair. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Reagan asked, looking between the too.

Charon turned his attention back to Tulip. He leans on the counter, plucking her book from under her register and sliding it to his side of the counter. Tulip’s eyes widen in distress. Reagan couldn’t hear what he was saying to Tulip, he spoke too low, but it couldn’t be missed that he was threatening her for information. Sometimes that didn’t work. It could make them clam up in fear. And Charon was really pushing it. This ghoul was hiding something, and it was in their interests to find it.

Reagan decided to turn on her charm. She elbowed past Charon to look at the poor ghoul. She as traumatized but the fact she hasn’t broke down crying yet gave Reagan high hopes to turn this around. She took the book back from Charon, sliding it back under the register. She ignored Charon’s growl, but even he could tell he couldn’t get Tulip to burst. He wasn’t desperate enough to physically harm her.

“Hey! Why don’t you tell me instead of him?” Reagan offered, leaning forward on the counter. 

“I don’t know you, smoothskin.”

Reagan pushed one of the Nuka-Cola trucks towards Charon’s fingers to force him to leave the counter. He shoved the toy truck to the floor and gave Reagan a scolding look. Reagan chuckled, leaning on her elbow between them. She had to make Charon look less threatening to sooth the ghoul. It worked slowly. She was used to scared victims. Back on raids, she had been the only one to crack one open without resorting to torture. Everyone needed something.

“You want this turd gone?” Reagan asked.

Tulip looks to her then to Charon and cringes. Reagan tried not to roll her eyes as she could practically feel the daggers that he’s glaring into them both. It would be easier if he would just step back and let her work. Reagan smirked, tapping her fingers on the counter to draw the ghoul’s attention back to her.

“You… You’re not going to tell him to wreck my store, are you?” Tulip asked. Her confidence was starting to repair.

“Why would I do that, darlin?”

“Because that is what people like him does!” Tulip burst out, pointing an accusing finger towards Charon, “When he doesn’t get what he wants, he takes it out on everyone else. Okay, I would have told you if you had just come in and asked nicely! He frightens everyone to get what he wants. I’m tired of people like him.”

Tulip didn’t know she was ranting to the wrong person. Reagan had the same tendencies as Charon on that regard and she didn’t need Tulip to tell her what she already figured out on her own. Reagan glanced over her shoulder to steal a glance at Charon as Tulip continued railing into him. Without much detail, it was clear Charon was a real demon in the Underworld. None of it bothered Charon. He didn’t react to Tulip’s outburst. He didn’t even tell her to shut up. Reagan raised her eyebrows and her bit her lip. Yikes.

In the middle of Tulip’s rant about Charon breaking one of her favorite lamps, Reagan dug out one of her bags of caps from her waist pack. The sound of the caps clinking together hushed Tulip. Reagan weighed it in her palm then let it drop on the counter. The ghoul was shocked. Reagan pushed it inch by inch to Tulip, smiling sweetly. It reeled her in.

“Quid pro quo, babe.”

Tulip stared at the caps. She didn’t want to look desperate, but she really needed those caps. The amount she could see in the bag was more than what most customers brought in a day. She couldn’t even sell everything left over to make this amount. The smoothskin’s smile looked cheeky. They knew she wanted the caps and a grudge on Charon wasn’t that important. Tulip touched the bag, expecting it to be snatched away. The smoothskin was just giving this away. For information. At least it was better than the alternative.

“Well… Quinn told me he was leaving on a run with Erin. The smoothskin paid him to guide him to the outskirts. Quinn didn’t want to go out that far west, so they went to the library to find Erin maps out that way. And… the brotherhood got Quinn.”

“Did they get Erin too?”

Tulip shook her head. “Erin didn’t come back in Underworld. I saw him go to the metro.”

Reagan raised her eye brows. That was good news! Behind her Charon moved closer. “You were outside during that? You saw this?”

“Yes.” Tulip confessed. She didnt want to confess the real reason she went outside was to meet Quinn. “I went out to get fresh air. I wish I didn’t.”

\----

“It’s easy. We go to the library.”

“The Scribes will not let either of us in.”

“Scribes monitor everything. They can point out the maps to us. If they do that then its easy. I’m telling you Charon!” Reagan exclaimed. “How can we find him out there if we can’t trace his steps? Why did he go back into the metro? Where did he go after that? We are only a month behind.”

Charon didn’t answer her questions. He already asked himself every possible question and he could not understand why Erin was risking his life like this. He pulled on his thin under shirt. He folded his tank top and stored it away in his pack for later. Reagan was still in her gear and eager to head out now on the trail. Charon was more cautious. The Brotherhood were firing on ghouls for no reason now. If he got anywhere near the library, then he would be fired upon. Scribes never went out into the field without their Paladins. It had been years since he had a firefight with a power armor. He didn’t have enough fire power. He would have to scope out a distanced area with a high-power rifle to minimize the risks involved. At least he could use Reagan as a decoy to dray them out of cover. As long as she didn’t know he was using her as bait.

Reagan scoffed at his silence. She was angry with him for not packing up and leaving right away at the news. She was tired of being ignored, at that moment she just couldn’t shrug it off. She didn’t care what he thought of her, but he was going to listen to what she had to say and pretend to care! She pushed aside his divider, tossing her pack on his bed as she stepped into his rented space. Charon stood up when the pack hit him. She waved her finger at him with her teeth bared. Charon squared his shoulders, ready to dodge.

“Charon get your head out of your ass already!” She hissed, trying to keep her voice down low so she disturb the customers in the diner next door. “You keep giving me this silent treatment and I had enough of it. Listen to me you bald-faced welp, we’ve been cooped up in this place for three days now and we haven’t gone outside yet! Now, damnit, Charon, we are going to the fucking library where the both of us are going to shovel through all that literature until we can find even a ghost of a fart from Erin to sniff.”

Charon fumed, stepping up. She was probably a head taller than everyone else and could use that to her advantages to scold underlings, but Charon was still taller than her. He’s been doing this a lot longer than she has. He reached forward and grabbed the collar of her armor, yanking her closer. Reagan’s face scrunched up a sneer of disbelief. Her sunshades fell from her head, landing sideways across the bridge of her freckled nose.

“Do not hiss at me like one of your raider lackeys.” Charon rumbled, just as low as she did. “Do not make me teach you how you have no authority over me.”

“Shit…” Reagan mumbled, adjusting her weight so she didn’t slip. She shrugged off her shock and jabbed her finger into his chest. It honestly hurt her finger. “You’re wasting time here! You need me to kick your fat ass into gear and I’ll do it. I ain’t scared of you like everyone else.” 

Reagan bared her teeth and pulled out of his grip, shoving him. Charon grabbed her by the front of the armor and spun her. Reagan gasped when her back collided with the wall, Charon pushed his fists against her ribs, forcing air from her lungs. They knocked the lamp off the bedside table. Stubbornly, she grabbed him by the collar of his jacket to prevent him from having any leverage against her.

“Stop saying how I need you. You have not proved your usefulness still. Maybe there is no better time than now.”

Reagan narrowed her eyes. She didn’t like that tone, it made her skin crawl. She had kept her cards close, she needed to fold or play. She wondered if Charon was good at cards. Maybe he was right, it was time for her to prove something to him. Her eyes darted to her pack and she let go of his jacket, holding up her hands in defeat.

“Fine. Fine! I got a pip-boy with some information. I’ll show you them, but I need to borrow the Mr. Gutsy.”

Charon was unconvinced. She gestured to her pack and Charon let go of her. He turned his attention on her pack, digging through, dropping unrelated and unnecessary things onto the bed. Reagan proceeded to quickly gather up her supplies before they rolled off the side of the mattress, complaining under her breath. Charon found the pip-boy. It was in a shoddy condition, held together with old duct tape. The screen was cracked but working still. Charon turned it over in his hand, noticing the sloppy etching of a name some child must have made on its side.

“Do you know much about pip-boys?”

Charon didn’t answer her. He pulled the pip-boy out of her reach when she tried to take it back from him. She glared at him but took a breath to control her anger. She really wanted to punch him. Reagan put her hands on her hips.

“I’ll take that as a no. Well, me either. But Erin knows a thing or two. He modified mine. I used to just use it as a pathfinder and a radio, but he sync it with his so we can send messages to one another. All recorded on this piece of shit.”

“Show me.”

Charon returned her pip-boy, and after she said a sarcastic thank you, she slipped it onto her wrist. After she turned a few dials and giving the screen a tap of her finger, she brought up a file. Charon looked over her shoulder, reading over the names of the messages: _Dear, Reagan. Ohayo! Dear, Reagan…._ There were so many files logged on her pip-boy. Some dated before he met Erin and some as soon as four months back. Charon gritted his teeth. And selected a random one as she scrolled through.

The message was garbled, almost to the point of just sounding robotic from the smashed speaker. But it was Erin. Charon felt sick to his stomach with worry all over again. Reagan shut off the message. She shook her head, looking back to him. She saw his concern before he could replace it with his usual annoyed mug. Reagan’s expression softened. Reagan saw right through him at that second and she felt that she could connect with his worry for Erin’s safety. She couldn’t ask a lot from him but if he would just trust her about this one thing!

“I’m not sure how this all works precisely but I need that Mr. Gutsy.”

“I am not sure about this.” He grumbled. “Are you familiar with Mr. Gutsy programming?”

Reagan shrugged, “I’ve done this before.”

“Does it have to be Cerberus?” 

“Do you have a handy eyebot floating around somewhere I don’t know? No? Didn’t think so.” Reagan tapped on the pip-boy screen again. The screen blacked out then powered back on, “Ergo, that robot will have a better transmitter and I can pick up any incoming recordings. Erin is a constant chatter box. You think I’m spared just because I’m not in the area? Nope, I hear about things too.”

Winthrop would never allow Cerberus to be tinkered with. Cerberus was stuck behind combat inhibitors that prevented him from opening fire on the ghouls of Underworld. With every chance the robot had, he would swear he would paint the walls red with blood at the first chance he had. Reagan could cause the fail safes to malfunction and ultimately unshackle hellfire and lasers. Charon shakes his head again. He's unsure, but he hasn't shot down the idea completely. A smile formed on Reagan's face and his brows furrowed at the sight of it.

“Come on, Charon, it’s not like we are kidnapping a baby!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody, I've been pulling 16hrs instead of usual 12hr shifts and HR found out so I gotta stop doing overtime for at least a month.  
> Another factor that I totally expected but hoped to avoid that has been slowing down posting is the fact that I changed my plot! Again! lmaoooo so now I have to go through premade outlined chapters to compensate for going in left field so not to confuse myself or you readers!!! And all on mobile!!!  
> Have fun!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is always important to have a library card.  
> Of Turrets and maps. Reagan bullies a doctor.  
> Cerberus goes for a walk and I make things up as I go.  
> You've got mail from your wayward boyfriend.

Charon refused to be an accomplice. Reagan was insisting she couldn’t do it without him.

And so, Charon and Reagan argued the entire trip to Arlington Library. Charon wouldn’t be convinced to help her kidnap the Cerberus. He claimed she couldn’t bypass the robot’s circuit-level gateways with a pip-boy. She kept using the word “malware” and “hacking” as if it would convince him she knew what she was doing. Their bickering only drew the attention of rabid dogs and nothing more sinister and both of them wished for a distraction. They continued to argue all the way to the front steps, and then argued who was going to go through the door first. Each thought they knew better than the other, Reagan spat that the ground and Charon shook his fist at her. Their disagreements came to a screeching halt the moment the door of the library shut behind them.

Three Paladins were stationed inside. One without a mask at the desk next to the terminal drew his laser rifle. The two others aimed their miniguns at Charon and Reagan. The trio looked just as surprised to see them. Charon raised his hands, a green library card already out and visible. Reagan called out in a high-pitched curse, bumping into Charon’s side to get out of the way of the barrels that glared at them. She mirrored Charon but her hands shaking and eyes wide. Charon glanced over the trio of Paladins, he didn’t see the scribe anywhere in sight. He shook his hand that held the library card to draw attention to it. The Paladin at the desk was the only one who took notice of it. He was in charge and kept the other two from obliterating the both of them. All he had to do was say the word.

The Paladin at the desk lowered his rifle, but not his suspicions. He gestured for them to come forward. Charon led Reagan to the desk, hands still were they could see them. They could not afford any misunderstandings. The Paladin’s blond hair was dirty, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked sleep deprived. He leaned on his helmet on the desk and adjusted the broken glasses on the bridge of his crooked nose. He gestured to the library card. The Paladin read over the handwriting on the card carefully, nodded once and handed it back to Charon.

“I thought I recognized you. You’re the big bastard that works for the Lone Wanderer. We are still takin in prewar books but no entry past the logs. Orders."

“Where is Scribe Yearling?” 

“Gone.” One of the other Paladins answered.

“We need to go upstairs.” Charon looks past them to the stairs behind the desk. 

“Shit. I need things too, ghoul.” The blond Paladin shakes his head and crosses his arms.

Charon grumbles under his breath, shoving the library card back into his inside pocket of his jacket. He wondered if it was really worth the fight to go upstairs and dig around dusty books for evidence of Erin. He would end up seriously injured, if not killed. Charon was lucky to get this close to a BOS controlled area without being fired on like he had expected. The Order of the Quill were made up of entirely Scribes, but the nerds still had their Paladins. He decided on coming back later perhaps when the Scribe was back. She was approachable. However, the way the Paladin said she was gone didn’t sound too promising. Reagan cleared her throat and stepped up. The Paladins shift their attention to her.

“I can give y’all waters and mentats if you let us by.” Reagan offers.

Reagan approaches the desk, setting her pack down. Even with helmets on, they could see the Paladin’s were interested in a trade. The blond Paladin picked up on of the bottles she set down to inspect the clarity. Charon expected her to faint. Her hands were shaking. Her eyes watched them like a frightened animal. She set out three bottles of purified water and four tins of mentats. Charon was amused by her struggle. Reagan must be really fighting the urge to turn tail and run out the door. The Paladin pointed to the water and Reagan flinched, clutching her pack tightly.

“Three more bottles and you two can go.”

Reagan looked over her shoulder. Charon nodded. Reagan digs out the remaining bottles and sets them next to the others. Reagan had forfeited the last of her water supply. The Paladins lower their weapons and the tension let up. Charon marched by the desk without hesitation and Reagan rushed after him, it didn’t take long to go upstairs. When they rounded the corner into the hallway, Reagan looked a lot calmer. She even sighed and shifted the weight of her armor on her shoulders. She stopped looking behind her until they closed the doors behind them to the balcony of the main room of books.

They stepped over old corpses of raiders with laser burns. The further they got from the lobby, the braver Reagan looked until she returned to her normal self. She knocked over a chair, digging through desks and filing cabinets. Charon left her behind more than once and she had to rush to keep up with him. Upstairs they reached another massive room filled with bookshelves. Some shelves had been overturned and moved around the room to use as barricades. Charon couldn’t help but chuckle sometime later, ducking under the rotting door frame into the history section of the library. Reagan raises an eyebrow staring at him in concern. 

“What’s the matter? Are you laughing? Was that a laugh?”

Charon shoves a leaning bookshelf back against the wall to make room for himself. He could see a hole broken through the wall across the room that opened up to another section. In the adjacent room, it appeared that there was recent activity in this area. Tables were overturned except one along the back of the room. Books were piled up. A prewar atlas was book marked. Dust was moved, small hand prints peppered the spines of books. Reagan moved to his line of sight beside him. She looked confused, even a bit curious. A smile was across her face, and her damaged eyebrow was still raised. Charon thought it was hilarious.

“You are frightened of the Brotherhood.” Charon accused. Her smile disappeared in a blink when she realized he had been laughing at her. 

“No!” she snapped.

Charon shook his head, adamant. “You were shaking. Your lips paled. Those are signs of fear.”

Reagan snorted. Charon scoffed and hid his smirk. Finally found something that scared the idiot enough to make her well-behaved. Reagan waved her hand and looked away from him. He squeezed through the small space between the crowded shelves, books slid loose and dropped on the floor around them. She moved to one of the large terminals near the hole in the wall. She turned on the terminal, tapping a few keys on the keyboard. The green light of the screen reflected on her eyes that shot a glare his way.

“Well. Maybe, I might be... I had a few bad experiences. I don’t know if it was those boy scouts or the other tin-men, but they can be really fucking frightening if you thought they were indestructible!”

Reagan’s attention was taken by the terminal. Charon continued on through the hole in the wall without her, stepping over the debris piled on the dirty floor. There were bits of paper littering all over the floor, desks and bookshelves were all knocked over except for a single filing cabinet. Charon heard the beep of a turret and he reacted quickly before he could determine its location. The turret opened fire, a buzz of bullets flew through the air around his head, barely missing him as he took cover behind a single filing cabinet. It was like a port in a storm, the only available source of cover from the turret. The filing cabinet wobbled, threatening to fall over. He was too large to take cover comfortably, careful not to let his shoulder or leg slip out of cover. 

The turret must be attached to the ceiling, the bullets tore up the floor near his boot. Bits of paper shredded by bullets took flight, and dust rose from the floor. He inched his foot back, fighting to keep balance. The turret beeped, as if annoyed it’s target took shelter. Charon gritted his teeth. He made a mistake not to check for the turret because he had been too excited to go to the table. He glared out of the hole in the wall he passed through. It was too far. Reagan peeked around the corner, the turret beeped, and she jumped back before it could lock on target. He heard her laugh at him. He could still see her from his vantage point, sitting at the terminal desk, typing away. He never paid attention to terminals, Erin didn’t either, neither of them could unlock one of them. The turret must have been activated by one of the Scribes after they left years back.

Reagan hummed to herself, narrowing her eyes at the screen. The little numbers and symbols must be scrolling by in speeds. She touched the screen with her finger and searched on the keyboard. The turret beeped again when his foot slipped on the loose paper covering the floor. The caliber rounds were starting to pierce through the metal filing cabinet. The piles of paper inside was the only thing keeping the bullets from puncturing through the thin metal surfaces and peppering into him.

“Don’t you worry!” Reagan called out over the gunfire, “I almost got it!”

Charon never knew a decryption could be so intense until he nearly got his head blown off. Pinned down with no way out without chancing serious injury. He wasn’t going to admit to her that he was starting to worry, and his knee was going stiff. The turret beeped twice, and the gunfire whirled down. Charon sighed in relief when it powered down. He slid down on the ground, leaning his weight back against the filing cabinet. Reagan climbed through the bullet ridden hole, looking around the room. She smiled at him. The filing cabinet fell backwards. Charon picked himself off the floor, aimed for the deactivated turret and fired. Just for safe measures.

Reagan went to the bookshelves, running her finger over the dust spines. The decryption was uninteresting to her and took no time at all for her. Charon didn’t expect Reagan to know how to work a terminal decryption. He reloaded the shotgun, the empty red shell ejected, rolling across the library floor. Reagan pulled a thick book from a shelf, dusting it off on her thigh. She flipped through some pages then slid it back into its space in the shelf with the other books. 

“Where did you learn that?” Charon asked, pointing back to the terminal with his shotgun.

Reagan tapped her fingers on the bookshelf, “Reading nerd shit.”

Charon raised his eyebrows. He didn’t think she knew how to read either. Reagan scoffed at his reaction to that and rolled her eyes.

“I wasn’t just kept around for patching up holes and making chems. I was the only one with enough patience to read. Its not that hard.” She followed him to the table. She laughed at a memory, “You know, when my brother’s boys caught Erin, he kept giving me books. He ran away from home and only thing he packed was books and a broken gun. I really liked the kid. I mean, yeah I wanted to bone him, but that wasn’t the point…”

Charon moved the stacked books to the side of the table. There was a massive map with books in the corner to keep it unraveled. The corners still tried to roll back to the center. The map matched the one from Erin’s room in Greyditch. Same areas were marked out and circled. Reagan hovered around the table with heavy book in her hands. She pointed at a little drawn in circle for Megaton.

“We would have never found him if we didn’t find this shithole by accident. The Blackguards we brought with us weren’t a lot. We weren’t even looking for Megaton. My brother – we called him Black-Eyes because we went by tribal names, well, he’s the one with the grenade pin in his hand. He’s the boss. That’s when I met Sherriff Simms. Black-Eyes wasn’t as unhinged then, you could talk to him just fine then if you were an outsider. We agreed on a trading pact. We were starving but we had a lot of shit.” Reagan moved her dirty fingers across the map, showing where they had been camped, and the area of the vault. She showed the direction he raiders moved on Megaton. She pointed to the school. “These bad-boys got it good. Black-Eyes kept them on drugs, and it kept them docile but cut them off cold if they disobeyed. He refused to sell to anyone who pressed on Megaton. So, trouble stopped for Megaton.”

“That is hard to believe. I was there when Megaton was attacked by raiders. There were no survivors.”

“There are more of them out there than you think. Not all of them like old Black-Eyes. Not all of them follow his rules.”

“What about you?”

“What kind of question are you asking?” Reagan asked, she looked jumbled by the question.

“You are a raider. Your brother is drug lord.”

“I don’t live that life no more. Family business gets repetitive. Black-Eyes wanted to deal in slaves, and I wasn’t too keen on it. Drugs was okay, because it kept me busy teaching. After I met Erin though, well... I guess he made me feel like a good person. I’m no monster but I’ve done plenty of shitty things to other people who probably didn’t deserve it.”

Charon gazes over the map as Reagan rambled on. Obviously, this was the map they were looking for, the only link they had of Erin, but nothing was marked that caught either of their eyes. His fingers traced over the many prewar towns, tiny names forgotten by time and violence. He never knew of these places personally. Before, or ever. He traveled over incalculable distances to many forgotten towns and settlements long before his ghoulification, the places now many just exist as dust. While he remained. Reagan reached out to take the map, Charon stand up straight and glares down at her.

Reagan scoffed at his glare and pulled her pack around to her front. She pulled out a folded piece of paper. She unfolded it over the table. Charon furrowed his brows. It was a crude drawing, but the handmade map was identical to the one inside Erin’s room. It was precise down to the arrows over old ruined roads. It matched the map on the table as well. Charon turned the corner of her map to face him, but she pulled it back with the same level of bitterness he had looked at her for trying to take the prewar map. Reagan took out a pencil and made her quick adjustments to the map, marking out areas they already traveled to. She must have a photographic memory. She folded her up quickly and stuffed it away. Charon took his map, keeping it in his jacket.

\---

Kidnapping a robot is easy! 

That’s how everything seemed nowadays: easy. That’s all he ever heard from Reagan. Which should have been Charon’s first clue that this was not in any way going to be easy. Charon had shot down the idea moments after Reagan came up with the plan and only reason, he had changed his mind was the successful decryption in the library that saved his ass from getting shot up. If she showed any bit of doubt, he would call off the whole plan. He needed to have her completely focused. Reagan was good at bullshitting. Now, that was something easy.

Charon gave her the answer to every question she had about Cerberus’ routes and what times the robot went back to its charging dock and how long it took before it was back on rounds again. Cerberus would alter its route and take a detour if there was an object or person in its way. Charon insisted this would be the best way to move the robot out of sight without drawing attention or causing it to turn hostile. It had to redirect itself all the time when one of the ghouls stumbled into its way.

Reagan practiced these maneuvers. Three out of four times she stood in the robot’s way, Cerberus would stop and hover around her. One of those failed attempts, she got burned when it nearly ran over her. It also made fun of her and called her blind. If Reagan stood on the balcony, Cerberus would just hover around her until it could move along around her. Near the statue, it would just go the opposite direction it had come in and she would have to start over again.

Reagan finally discovered if she stood at the foot of the steps and blocked its path, Cerberus would turn around to retract tis path through the lobby but coming very close to the front doors of the exhibit. And there would be the perfect place where she would strike, that is if Charon stood at the steps. She would wait in the shadows for the robot to hover by and there she could snatch it up.

Problem with that was Cerberus was very loud. It’s personality chip made it exaggerate his simulated emotions. It loudly insulted Reagan when she purposely shoved it for a reaction. It was enough to make the nearby ghouls curious in her lack of senses. The next time she tried to force it off route, she managed to pry off the control panel cover. Cerberus’ defensives came online, and she quickly evacuated to the back room for safety. Cerberus didn’t open fire immediately but buzzed around like an angry wasp before it went back to passive.

Cerberus had exposed ports now. The plan was to wait. They need to wait for when foot traffic was low and near to no activity. Charon would need to stand at the base of the stairs to redirect the robot’s route and when it hovered too close to the entrance, Reagan would smack its sensors to daze the robot. Then connect her pip-boy to upload the override systems. Easy-peasy, squeezy-lemon! Charon never wanted to hear the word easy out of Reagan’s mouth again.

It was an endless waiting game. Charon and Reagan lounged in the diner all day long. Charon stared out the doors from their usual spot at the back of the diner, watching Cerberus pass every few hours like clockwork. Reagan sat on the left of him this time, bouncing her leg to the beat of the music playing on GNR. Greta would stop to talk with Reagan here and then until soon, thankfully for Charon, the two had nothing else to talk about. Even Willow drifted in on her break and came to say hello to them at their table, giving Charon a cigarette.

Carol cooked the last of her brahmin steaks for Charon. Reagan watched hungrily. She had tried to take some from his plate and almost broke her fingers when he slammed his fist down on her hand. She wouldn’t try it again and he enjoyed his meal. Greta complained they were eating them out of house and home, how they were lazy and needed to go elsewhere to busy themselves. Finding something to do to sate boredom only sounded troublesome to Charon. 

Reagan had a pack of cards in her bag and slapped it on the table. “Blackjack?”

“No.”

“You’re doing fuck-all else.” Reagan flushed the cards smoothly, tossing cards his way. “I’ll make it easy for you: we don’t even have to bet on anything. Hey, Greta, wanna be the dealer?”

“I’ve never played this game before.” Greta said, picking up the empty plate.

“Seriously? Neither of you want to play me?”

“You will cheat.” Charon pointed out.

“I won’t be touching the deck!” Reagan complained. 

Reagan fumed. Bored out of her mind. She busied herself with performing mediocre magic card tricks to Carol. She was delighted in the tricks, laughing. Charon was not interested in choosing a card. She asked him a lot regardless, often pretending he had picked. He was more interested in his combat knife. Only talent she had with the cards was shuffling, showing off how quickly she could flush the cards and spread them over the table. Even that got boring after a while. Reagan gave up. She rolled her eyes and gathered up her cards, wrapping them up with a rubber band.

Carol and Greta retired for the night but left it to Charon and Reagan to close the doors for the night. No other costumers would be coming in at this hour. Charon was miles away in his own head, barely paying attention to the world around him. Reagan hummed to the radio and played Pip-fall on the pip-boy. She could hardly get to the next level before the game would crash. Reagan acted as if the pip-boy was working fine. 

Charon wiped off his knife on his thigh, cleaning it carefully with a cloth to a polish. He could be patient and it would not hurt Reagan to sit in some silence for once. Reagan leaned on her elbow on the table, watching the rhythmic movements of Charon’s tedious sharpening of his knife over the whetstone. Reagan imagined by now the blade was sharp enough to split hairs in two. When he had cut her in Megaton might even leave a scar. It had been sharp enough to feel like a sting. The slide over the steel hissed with every stroke, lulling her into the verge of slipping off into cat nap.

Reagan woke herself, sitting up. “Ah, Charon, look. The doctor is in.” 

Charon glanced up from the knife. Doctor Barrows made a bee line to the table. He had abandoned his doctor coat and wearing his usual stained shirt. Reagan didn’t smile. She could read that the ghoul was angry. Barrows scowled over both of them in the most disappointing way. Neither of them was going to ask him why. Charon had better things to worry about and Reagan offered Doctor Barrows a game of blackjack. He declined, harshly in her opinion. Charon didn’t look to him when he stood at the table. Barrows felt ignored and became instantly annoyed. He cleared his throat.

“Charon, may I speak with you alone?”

Charon grumbled. Reagan glanced to Charon and smiled. She looked back to Barrows with a shrug. Barrows looked offended. He stood up straight and clenched his fists at his sides. He looked like he was about to throw a tantrum. Reagan leaned back in her chair and waved her hand to calm down the doctor. He looked determined. 

Reagan frowned, “He said no. That didn’t mean you still can’t talk.”

“I would rather speak to him alone, miss.” He explained through clenched teeth. It was taking a lot for the doctor to stay his composure.

“Why?”

Barrows decided to ignore the smoothskin. The stepped around the table closer to Charon’s side. “Charon, I would have liked to speak to you alone, but if you insist…”

“Spit it out, Barrows.” Charon grumbled.

“I warned you about your behavior. I cannot condone your actions today. You have repeatedly frightened the ghouls of Underworld even after I have told you not to do this. Today, I learned that you threatened a citizen and now…”

Reagan stood up, moved around the table to stand over the good doctor. She towered over him like this and he practically shrank from her. She placed her heavy hand on his shoulder and pushed him down into the chair next to Charon. Barrows gaped, too intimidated to get back up. Reagan pulled the chair around and sat closely to the ghoul. She wore a smile, but it looked more like a snarl. Barrows’ wide eyes looked to her in dread. Reagan rested her arm across the ghoul’s thin shoulders.

“Doctor Barrows, are you about to say what I think you’re going to say?” Reagan asked, the concern on her face was absurdly fake. “Are you about to tell Charon and I to leave Underworld? We ain’t even fully rested for our long trip away.”

The hiss of the knife over the whetstone made Barrows’ cringe. He stammered on his words and cleared his throat. “I’ve told him…”

“One physician to another…” Reagan took Barrow’s wrist resting on the table, gripping it tightly. Tight enough that Barrows’ was convinced she would crush his bones in her hand. He gasped, stooping forward in pain, and she wasn’t going to let up. “It is 5 pounds of pressure… minimum. Textbook stuff. Am I right?”

“Reagan.” 

Reagan let go Barrows’ wrist upon hearing her name. She looked up to make eye contact with Charon. His tone was dark, similar to the way he glowered at her when they argued. He was so furious that his eyes seemed to be on fire, but he sat silent and composed. Reagan frowned, but got the message. She let go of Barrows’ shoulders, backing off to give the doctor room. Reagan brooded, tapping her fingers on her folded arms. Barrows stood up quickly, thankful that Charon could rein that psychopath back.

Barrows adjusted his shirt collar and gave a weak glare to Charon, “Tomorrow morning you have got to leave and take that… woman with you.”

Reagan watched the doctor leave in a hurry. She huffed. Why would Charon let these ghouls talk to him like this? He could have the run of the place if he really wanted to. And it would be so effortless! The ghouls were already frightened of Charon. Reagan took a deep breath, scratching her nail into the edge of the table. She didn’t understand at first. Where she came from no one had ever dared to ask her and her own to leave before they were ready. The ghouls of Underworld had no clue what she was capable of.

“She snitched.”

“Quiet.” Charon growled.

Reagan leaned away from him, unable to think of a response immediately. He was angry? She was legitimately shocked. Why was Charon angry with her when she had only been trying to help him! They needed to work together and that had been her effort to prove he could trust her to handle things for him. Charon didn’t see it that way.

She sat up straight, “Hey! I had your back.”

“You were only making things worse.”

“What?” Reagan threw up her hands in disbelief. “Charon! He’s kicking us out.”

“We were leaving anyways. Do not touch anyone else or I will touch you.”

“Ha! What would you do if I let you? You’ll make the ladies jealous.”

“You are not my type.”

Reagan covered her mouth to suppress her laugh, “Yeah? Is it Erin, then?”

Charon shot her a quick glare.

“Woops.” She picked at him. “I hit the bullseye?”

…

Cerberus hovered in front of Charon for a few moments, it’s little circuited brain calculating the odds and paths throughout Underworld. Cerberus already ordered curtly to the ghoul to move several times, and even checked with its optics to even see if it was a ghoul blocking its way instead of debris. The ghoul did not move, and its path was still blocked. Charon stared at the Mr. Gutsy, watching it recalibrate. The robot’s thruster motors rotated and soon it’s body followed. It turned around and trailed a predetermined path back towards the exhibit entrance. Charon followed behind it.

Reagan was waiting by the door. She had the pip-boy on her arm, activated and she was stretching her arms. Cerberus unwittingly hovered too closely to the woman. Reagan moved in an instant with a big grin on her face. She grabbed Cerberus by the eye stalks and using her weight, pulled him with her out the exhibit door. Cerberus’s optics turned red, but a solid slap left it spinning in confusion. Charon rushed out the door after them. Reagan plugged in the pip-boy to the exposed ports. The robot beeped loudly and made a robotic outcry. The machine powered down, folding itself up as if in a charging port.

Charon and Reagan stared down at Cerberus. Charon tilted his head and Reagan shrugged. Apparently, both of them didn’t expect to make it this far. The robot powered back on, hovering in full power. It has not made any indication to attack them yet. Reagan tapped at her pip-boy slowly, her tongue sticking out the corner of her lips. She furrowed her brow. The machine beeped. She smiled and pushed the Mr. Gutsy towards the unblocked hall to the next exhibit. Charon sighs and follows after them. 

The next exhibit had been closed for some time, the entrance had collapsed, and some from Underworld tried to clear it out to make more living space for more ghouls traveling in for sanctuary they cannot promise to give. It was the exhibit for WW2 and modern times. Which seemed just as cliché as Underworld, but Charon was sure it went over their heads. It didn’t matter if they could provide safety. Inside the lights did not work, emergency light gave off a sick yellow glow off the walls. 

Reagan stops Cerberus, taps away on her pip-boy. Charon looks about the entrance, silhouettes of tanks and iron suits hulk in the shadows like bitter memories. There was an elaborate painting of an oil rig and a pipeline running from Canada to the Gulf of Mexico. Charon glared at the floor instead. He still didn’t know if the foggy memories of the Alaskan tundra were real or simulated. The smell of burning oil lingered like a ghost. Cerberus let out a loud robotic yell that echoed through the exhibits. Charon grits his teeth and marches back to them.

“Quiet!” he hissed, “Why is it making that nose?”

“Sorry! It’s been a while!”

Cerberus’ arms flail about erratically and Reagan looked panicked. Charon glares down at her, but it was too late to turn back now. They made it this far. Cerberus’ arm swings too close and it’s flamethrower activates. Charon backs up out of range to stand behind Reagan. She was losing control of the robot and he prepared himself for when it would turn on them. Cerberus’ arms spin its arms, it’s optics lit up red in warning of it’s hostile intents. The robot sputters, one of the lasers fires off and scorches the moldy ceiling. 

“You told me you knew what you were doing!” Charon growled. “This doesn’t look like you do!”

“Okay, so I lied! Fuck off! How hard can it be?” Reagan confessed, shaking off his grip on her shoulder pad. They ducked under the flailing arm. She tapped on the pip-boy screen, “It’s just picked up a target.”

“Yeah, it’s us.” Charon raised the shotgun.

“Wait!”

Across the open room, shadows move along the displays. On their left, a door slammed. Charon turns his shotgun away from the robot. Ferals rush through a broken door, knocking it off the hinges. They trip over one another, snarling and mouths gaping. One screeches out loud, making Reagan cringe at the pitch. The feral ghouls have found them. Charon raises his shotgun to prepare to fire. Cerberus halts it’s shaking, and the optics turn to the ferals. The flamethrower swerves through the air like a fencing sword, challenging its opponent. The laser arm aims for the horde. 

“Guns are hot!” Cerberus cries out, “Welcome to hell, you zombie freaks!”

The ferals rush towards him in response, screaming in rage. Cerberus takes the brunt of the attack, firing his lasers and burning ones who fell. The smell of burning flesh made Reagan’s eyes burn. She stays behind the robot, keeping control of Cerberus as he berserks through the feral ghouls. Next to her, Charon blasts away the few that got by Cerberus, keeping her covered. Gore splashes over her, and it smells like rot. Reagan adjusts the settings on the pip-boy and Cerberus lets out a battle cry. His flamethrower empties its tanks, frying the remaining ghouls. 

Charon just gives her a scolding glare. There was no time to give her a proper ass-chewing in the middle of a firefight. Reagan quickly takes control of Cerberus again. She leans into the robot and grunts as she uses her weight push the robot as a battering ram to make way towards the stairwell. Cerberus didn’t seem to be bothered by it all as it was having the time of his robotic life killing feral ghouls and bathing in the blood of his enemies. It wasn’t the blood of the actual ghouls who kept him shackled like a guard dog, but some shameless violence certainly put some pep in his life.

Reagan struggled pushing Cerberus up the stairwell. The robot refused to go any further while there were feral ghouls still live. Reagan was worried she wouldn’t be able to access Cerberus again if she powered him down to push him. She wasn’t going to tell Charon that. He was already angry with her for getting them kicked out of Underworld, though Reagan was certain the good Doctor was going to do that anyways. Now, Reagan also confessed to lying about Cerberus. In her defense again, it actually wasn’t that hard after all, but I could be even easier if she had a pip-boy in better condition.

Cerberus’ connection to the pip-boy faltered, flailing its arms again. Charon helped half drag the gore covered robot upstairs while Reagan pushed. The thrusters tried to send Cerberus in opposite directions, often slamming itself into the drywall, crumbled ceiling tiles showered dust over the trio. Between the cursing at one another, in hushed tones so not to attract any more attention and the shoving match, they finally reached the door to the roof. Charon opened the door with a swift kick.

On the roof, everything seemed calm. The night sky was clear, and the stars were bright above them, even a decent breeze blew away the stale air with occasional little dotted clouds. They weren’t there to enjoy the night sky. Cerberus was still unstable, it’s thrusters tried to keep it balanced. The slightest touch from either of them nearly sent Cerberus almost out of reach in its attempt to stay steady. His setting put him back into passive and his arms drooped weakly on the roof. Once steadied enough, Reagan dug through her pack to retrieve her collection of stole antennas, braiding and splicing wires to places Charon had no knowledge of.

Reagan tapped on the pip-boy, then slapped the side of the Mr. Gutsy. The optics flashed red, then to a strange green. Reagan smiled. Success. Charon comes over beside her to inspect her progress. Reagan adjusts the antenna direction to the left, right, then to point north. The hiss of the thruster motor was the only sound, whistling with the wasteland breeze. Charon listened closely for Erin’s voice that might play, watching her scroll through messages and scripts.

“Ah. There!” Reagan mumbled. “Which do you wanna hear? Oh, no not that one. That’s, uh, too private for your virgin ear-holes.”

Charon twisted the knob on the pip-boy and selected a random message. He heard Erin’s voice clear and crisp. Charon turned off the message quickly. It surprised him. Reagan raised her eye brow and gave him a strange look. He adjusted his weight and inhaled deeply. He wasn’t expecting this to work so well. Hearing Erin’s voice made his heart race and he wasn’t prepared for that. Not with Reagan here.

“Are you okay?” Reagan asked. She sounded genuinely worried for him. Perhaps it surprised her too.

The worst was over and when Charon had decided he had a handle on things, he forced a look as if he was uninterested and grunted as an answer. Reagan didn’t look so assured. She had seen his millisecond short panic attack. She did think that he had made a proper job of trying to disguise it, but not quick enough. A loud pip from the pip-boy interrupted what Reagan wanted to say next. She raised her eyebrows and shook the pip-boy in excitement. It worked!

“Oh! Charon look! A message! Charon there’s a new message!”

Charon moved closer to look over her shoulder, grasping her arm to steady the pip-boy she shook on her wrist. On the green screen, there was a highlighted audio file: _Ohayo!_ Reagan beamed, bouncing on her feet. Charon moved the dial, selecting the new file. Reagan bit her lip to silence her thrilled outcry. The message was garbled at first, then cleared out but would drop in and out. The abduction of Cerberus turned out to be success after all. Charon had really doubted her, but she proved him wrong. For once he was glad that he had been wrong.

_“…ello Reagan! You won’t believe the stuff I’m h-hearing out here! I find out from Crow, who heard it from Wolfgang that certain yell-.. lady and my best ghoul-friend are looking for me! Wo…together? You guys! … so, you two have probably figured… out by -ow that I’m on a very important quest. And I am completely fine! … scouted out a southern path past ruins and dust storms. I think I saw a settlement last time I came through and I’m going… -ack to see if I can make c-contact with them…”_

Reagan tsked and rolled her eyes, “He’s an idiot.”

Charon hushed her.

_“I guess I can wait for you guys. Might as well since you two are looking for me. I’ll transfer the coordinates if…, but to be honest, my pip-boy is acting up here. Probably a deposit in the soil. So instead I can upload a section of my map. …I think that’ll do… I don’t… -erse th….”_

“Ach, I’m losing signal. Fucking clouds…” Reagan moved the antenna and Erin’s voice returned.

_“Babe, please tell Charon I’m sorry for… uh, he knows. Tell him I love him and I’m sorry. He’ll know why. You g-guys won’t like it much out here. There’s a lot of dust and buildings ar… burnt up. Doesn’t... -tell I’m wrapped up like a Halloween mummy! Bring lots of protection! Love…”_

The message dropped instantly, and the silence of the wasteland hung over them like a heavy force. Charon let go of Reagan’s arm. He had a lot to think about. The pip-boy pipped again, and the screen loaded a grimy map. It was no where Charon had ever traveled to. It had the arrow at the bottom for south, the rest of it was a mystery. Erin’s entrance point was through a gap between the ruins near Rivet City. There weren’t any other landmarks noted except for a line for a path drawn in. Charon glowered at the map. There was nothing in the ruins. It was just debris. Supermutants never went that far into it. Why Erin even thought it was a great idea was beyond him. He glanced to Reagan. The look on her face was mischievous and he scowled at it.

“Oh, ho, Charon! You told me he was just your employer. My Erin doesn’t say he loves just anyone.”

“Mind your own business.”

Reagan snickered, pulling off the antennas from Cerberus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! We have Reagan mention Black-Eyes, her brother.  
> Black-Eyes is my Courier, we WILL be in the second part of the story.  
> I will also cosplay him this year at Houston's Anime Matsuri Convention (i also cosplayed as Reagan the day before). This years appearance is going to be altered from two years back because of budgets. it took me five hours to make the Riot armor and paint details on it and i have until the 14th to finish the rest of the get up. If i am seen, don't be alarmed, I'm just drunk.


End file.
